


Blossoms in Barren Land

by kassio



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Far Future, Future, Illnesses, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Regency, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassio/pseuds/kassio
Summary: Mr. Louis Tomlinson is a dutiful son to Lord and Lady Tomlinson, a caring older brother, and a beloved fixture of their village. He has always done what was expected of the Tomlinson heir.An unexpected new resident fascinates Louis and awakens feelings that threaten to throw his perfectly-ordered life into chaos. Mr. Harry Styles, however, has plans of his own, and may not be what he seems...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A few warnings: I did tag for Minor Character Death. In this case, this is a consequence of being a time travel fic: if you’re hanging out in year X and then you travel to year X+500, everybody else from Year X is long dead from your perspective once you’re in the future. So those are not “on-screen” deaths, nor are they necessarily untimely deaths, but they still may be very sad. None of OT5 die! One of the major characters does experience a protracted and severe illness for a portion of the fic. So, yes, no Major Character Death, but some heavy themes around death and illness and loss of family members, so, fair warning about that. Some difficult things happen on the way to a happy ending.
> 
> I apologize for any inaccuracies, historical or otherwise. There are certainly anachronisms in speech. Unfortunately, I just didn’t have time to research every detail. This pains me! I love to get the details right but I ended up very pressed for time on this one. Maybe later I can come back and make some little corrections. The wonderful Mary Robinette Kowal, author of many excellent books, put together a great resource for doing this from Jane Austen novels. Anyway, know that I tried, but please be kind and suspend your disbelief if you encounter an obvious error!
> 
> Thanks to noellehenry for including my story in this fic challenge, even though it's only partly a Regency story!
> 
> And thanks as always to [elsi-bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsi_bee) for her excellent beta work on a tight timeline. Thank you for catching all those missing words, weird typos, and things-I-meant-to-fix-but-missed! As always, you made this work better, and I appreciate it.

The traveller took a deep breath and let it out with a happy sigh. The air carried the scents of grass, summer trees, and an earthy but inoffensive tinge of livestock. As the past went, the early nineteenth century English countryside was a nice-smelling destination. The air was free of chemical smells in this pre-industrial age, and they were far from the rank odours of the cities. The vile things he had smelled in eighteenth-century Edinburgh still haunted him. Thankfully, Edinburgh was very far away.

He stood near a rocky outcrop in a stand of trees that wouldn’t be felled until the 1920s. It should be a safe place for his cache. He set out a small robot, no bigger than his hand, to carve a hole out of the rock, preserving a lid that he could slot into place when he was ready. He kept an eye on it while it worked: on his last trip, the Digger-Bot had glitched and dug several extra holes when he wasn’t looking. This time, he stayed close. He spent his time taking a last inventory of his supply chest. He’d done this twice already, of course, but it never hurt to be sure.

The chest itself was made of a twenty-fourth century alloy that no nineteenth-century tool could penetrate and fitted with a biometric lock whose battery should last for at least eighty years. This was all to protect the technology inside: a medical scanner, a small stash of medicaments, extra batteries for his tablet, an extra tablet just in case the first one broke entirely, extra retrieval dongles, and the all-important specimen containers. The latter were clad in wood to give them the appearance of something more appropriate to the time period. He considered them for a few minutes and ultimately put them into his bag. The drop point was severaldays’ walk from his destination. Technically it would be safer to leave the containers here, but he wasn’t going to risk missing his chance to get the samples because his canisters were days away. 

He had his things ready to go by the time the bot stopped its work and dropped the rock lid near his feet with a cheerful chirp. “Good job,” he said, patting the machine fondly. A silly gesture – the thing couldn’t hear or feel – but he did it anyway. Then he turned it off, stowed it in the chest, and stashed that in the hole the digger-bot had made. The lid fit perfectly, of course. It would take an incredibly careful observer to notice the hair-thin seam. He stared at the rock wall for several minutes, committing details to memory so that he’d be able to find it himself when he needed it. Finally, he nodded to himself. He was ready.

He shouldered his bag, a heavy cylinder of canvas of the type that sailors favoured. It marked him as a Navy man almost as much as his actual uniform. The uniform was not terribly comfortable, with a tight waistcoat, a jacket over that, and crisp white breeches and stockings that would soon be marred by road dust. It would be unpleasant to walk miles in this uniform, yet he left the spot with a smile and a song on his lips. He was so happy to be here. 


	2. Part 1

The day that changed Mr. Louis Tomlinson’s life began as a day like any other. Even by the time it ended, it was no more than a typical day with a single atypical occurrence. It would take weeks for Louis to realise the import of it all.

It was a warm, cheerful spring day. Louis tended to his correspondence, took his morning walk, and did some reading. Thus occupied was how a servant found him to let him know that his mother required him. Ever the good son, Louis set the newspaper aside with only a little sigh and went to attend Lady Tomlinson.

He found her at her vanity, holding up different bonnets to her head and frowning at the mirror. Eyes fixed on this image, she said, “Darling, Phoebe wants a new pair of shoes and perhaps a hat for the ball, and of course that means all the others will be wanting them, too. I need you to take them to the shops. I have an appointment with Lady Anderson, so I need you to take them.”

“I was going to go see Oliver about a horse this afternoon.”

“Well, then you must hurry your sisters along,” Lady Tomlinson said simply, as if it were _ever_ that easy with seven young women.

“Mother, just let Charlotte take them for once. She’s twenty-three, and Felicity is twenty. Anybody else would let—”

“I’m not anyone else, Louis,” she murmured, tying a bonnet on and tilting her head to examine its angles. “You know my rules and you know very well why.”

“They’re not going to end up disgraced or married to a farmer just because you let them buy a hat without an escort.”

She didn’t turn from the vanity, but in the mirror, she fixed him with a severe look. _“Louis.”_

He sighed. He knew he wouldn’t win, but it was worth a try. “Yes, Mother.”

He went back to his reading until the horde of sisters appeared and induced him to set his paper aside to escort them to town. He fancied it was a comical sight, Louis in his proper dark suit surrounded by chattering girls in pastels, ranging from the eldest in their early twenties to the youngest twins, only twelve but growing up far too quickly for his liking.

Their parents’ protectiveness was frustrating. There was really no reason for him to be escorting them to the milliner’s; he wasn’t exaggerating when he said that any other family would let them go on their own. Still, he loved them dearly. He would do anything for them.

He reminded himself of this when he had been stuck in the milliner’s for a full hour and thought he might expire from boredom. His sisters were all clever, accomplished, kind, and beautiful, and generally very pleasant to spend time with, but there was nothing to hold his interest in the detailed scrutiny of a bonnet’s lace trim.

Through the small windows of the shop, he saw an unfamiliar carriage pass. Shortly thereafter, an equally unfamiliar man passed by the window of the store and then came through the door.

Mentally, Louis perked up, though he tried not to watch in an obvious way. They didn’t often see strangers in Combe Martin, for it was small and not on any very important roads. This man was wearing a Navy officer’s uniform and carrying a sea-bag, but he wasn’t one of the local men who had gone to sea. Louis would certainly have remembered someone so strikingly handsome. He had thick dark hair, bright eyes, and a strong, statuesque jawline. His only flaw was that his garments were rumpled and a bit dusty from the road.   

The man glanced around the shop, hesitated, then went up to the counter and greeted Mr. Collins, the shop’s proprietor. After a brief “how do you do,” he introduced himself as Henry Styles. He asked, “Can you direct me to Mr. Edward Faulkner? The carriage driver didn’t know the house, so he left me here to ask for directions.”

Mr. Collins’ eyes went wide. “The Faulkners? Why do you ask?”

“Did he just ask after the Faulkners?” Felicity whispered, wide-eyed. “Oh, no.”

“Shhh, I’m trying to listen,” Phoebe hissed.

Mr. Styles said, “They are my aunt and uncle. I’ve come to visit them.”

“Word must have missed you, if you were traveling,” the milliner murmured, looking the stranger over and clearly perceiving his naval coat.  “Oh, it’s terrible news, terrible.”

“What’s happened?” Mr. Styles asked, sounding properly alarmed.

Mr. Collins pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow, though he wasn’t sweating. “Oh, I wish I were not the one to have to tell you. I don’t have the constitution for it. It’s too dreadful to be borne.”

Oh, dear. Mr. Collins was the type who expected extreme delicacy with his own self yet rarely mustered such care for others. He certainly was not the man for the job. With a few decisive strides, Louis was at the counter by the stranger. “That’s all right, Mr. Collins. I can tell him.”

“Oh, Mr. Tomlinson! That would be a kindness. Mr. Styles, this is Mr. Tomlinson.”

“How do you do,” Louis said automatically, offering his hand to shake.

Mr. Styles frowned at the outstretched hand, and for a moment, Louis thought Mr. Styles might cut him and simply turn away. After that hesitation, he did shake Louis’ hand, but it was as brief and light a handshake as he had ever experienced. He seemed like a strange fellow.

“Girls, I’ll just be outside a moment,” Louis said to his sisters.

Charlotte smirked. “I dare say we’ll manage on our own here.”

“I doubt Father will agree when he sees all the charges to his account,” Louis teased before he turned back to Mr. Styles. “If you please, sir, let’s step outside for a moment.”

He guided Harry outside to stand under a tree with new spring leaves. Concern etched in every line of Mr. Styles’ face. “What is it, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis took a deep breath. The event was still fresh and horrible in his mind. Now, quite unexpectedly, he must break the news to their nephew. “I’m sorry, Mr. Styles, dreadfully sorry to tell you that there was a fire at the Faulkner home just two days ago—”

“No! Oh, no,” Mr. Styles gasped.

“It was in the middle of the night. We don’t know how it started, but everyone else was abed. No one saw the flames until it was too late.”

Mr. Styles sagged against the side of the building as shock washed over his face. “You mean they’re… my God. Aunt Betty!” He pressed his hands to his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, God have mercy on their souls. What a horror. What am I going to do? Oh, I must write to my mother.”

“I’m sorry – this must be a terrible shock. I don’t think I was really the right person to tell you but I didn’t want to leave you ignorant. Here, let me—there’s an inn nearby. Let us get you a room there for now, at least.” Louis took him by the arm and pulled him gently along, a gesture of intimacy that would have been inappropriately familiar in normal circumstances, but the other man was dazed and tractable.

The inn was only a few doors down. Louis guided him down the street in silence and explained the situation to the proprietor before turning to him to say, “I must take my sisters home, but I’ll return later. I’m sorry I can’t—well. I’m very sorry about the situation, Mr. Styles. Get some rest and I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Styles said. His voice was deep and husky; his eyes were vague and distracted. Louis took his leave in order to hurry home. He didn’t know what to do about the situation, but Lady Tomlinson would.

Of course, Mr. Styles could surely fend for himself. He was a Navy officer; he had just survived a war. He did not necessarily _need_ the help of Louis or his mother. And yet—the man could navigate the seas, but did he know how to navigate the peace? Many was the man who did not know how to re-enter domestic life without a family’s help, and Mr. Styles seemed to have none. Why else would he be here in Combe Martin and not with a nearer relative? Perhaps he did not need help, but he seemed like he could use it. He was bereaved and alone. Louis wanted to help, if he could.

He gathered up his sisters and brought them home. As soon as his mother returned home, he explained the situation to her. She had taken off her bonnet but was quick to don it again, quite certain that the poor young man could not live without their help. To Louis’ relief, she required him to come along. They summoned a carriage and made their way back to the inn.

Mr. Styles was called to the parlour, Louis introduced them, and Lady Tomlinson got down to business. She expressed her regret and sympathy for the circumstances, and said she was sorry that she had not known of Mr. Styles to write to him, but that of course the news could not have found him on the road in any case. She asked, “Was your object in Combe Martin only to visit Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner?”

“Well, mainly. You see, with the war over, I need to find a place to settle down. I was to at least stay for the summer and see if it suited me here. I was going to work on their garden, try to accustom myself to the pursuits of peace,” he said with a wistful little sigh. “I’m afraid I have so few relations these days. My father passed away. My mother remarried and her husband cares more for his own family. My sister married a Frenchman, if you can believe it, and moved to Paris. I thought, with Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner… Well. I shall write to my friends, I suppose, and find if anyone has bit of spare room and company for this poor sailor. I don’t know if… Well, there’s nothing for it.”

Lady Tomlinson looked over at Louis. _Keep him here, he needs someone on his side,_ Louis thought. He had no idea how to communicate that with his face, but he and his mother had always shared a particular understanding. Rather abruptly, she shifted the topic to ask, “Did you do well in the war, Mr. Styles?”

“Well enough. I have got enough to support a family in comfort. Luxury, no, but it will do for me.”

“If the money is managed well,” the lady added with a stern look.

“Of course.”

“And you may earn more if there is another war. Well, dear Mr. Styles. I was very fond of your aunt and uncle, and my nerves are still very shaken from the tragedy. I don’t have any wish to cast you out and leave you going door to door seeking a friend. I am sure that your naval acquaintances are still getting settled, the same as you, and it might be a difficulty. No, you shall be like family here. Leave it to me, young man.” At a gesture from her, Louis stood and she rose to take his arm. “I shall make some arrangements and call on you tomorrow.”

She hadn’t left a moment for Louis to get a word in. All he had to offer Mr. Styles was an uncertain smile and a mental promise to call on him soon.

 

* * *

 

To his dismay, Louis was obliged to go visit his grandparents, youngest sisters in tow. He returned a few days later to learn that Mr. Styles had already been settled with old Lord and Lady Anderson. Felicity had gone with Mama to see them and was heard excitedly whispering to her sisters about the handsomeness of Mr. Styles, although only when their parents were out of earshot. Louis found it rather tedious. Their parents would hardly let their daughter marry a mere Lieutenant, so what was the point of admiring him?

But then, Mr. Styles had been making quite a stir throughout the small town. Louis met some friends on his customary morning walk and encountered still others when he made a few visits to let people know that he was back from his trip. They all had something to say about the town’s newest inhabitant. Nearly everyone found him charming, polite, and handsome. He was perhaps a bit quiet, a bit odd or uncertain at times, but the loss of his aunt and uncle accounted for that. He was not seen out in society much; it was widely hoped that time would restore his spirits and bring him among the townsfolk more. Most were reluctant to call on him and impose. They were waiting for an event when it would be easier to get to know the man.

Louis understood their reservations but felt that they did not apply to him. He had broken the news of the loss to Mr. Styles, gotten him settled, gotten his mother’s aid. He felt a certain responsibility which entitled, even compelled, him to call on Mr. Styles. As soon as he could, he made his way to the Anderson home.

The servant at the door told him that he could find Mr. Styles in the garden. Louis supposed he would find him reading or strolling. He was quite unprepared for the reality.

Mr. Styles was on his knees, a rag under him to protect his trousers from the ground, carefully lifting a plant from a small pot and depositing it into a freshly-dug hole. His hands were dirty; his coat had been set aside on a bench; his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Louis hadn’t quite realized how strong Mr. Styles must be, but now it was obvious in the corded muscles of his bare forearms, in the breadth of his shoulders. He was a breathtaking combination of gentlemanly poise and masculine vigour.

Louis needed to get a hold of himself. He couldn’t think that way. It was both useless and wrong to have the sorts of _thoughts_ about Mr. Styles that he suddenly did. He seriously considered simply walking away and returning later, but Mr. Styles was sure to  notice and then it would be terrifically awkward. No, he must master himself and behave as if he were a normal man, as he’d been doing all his life.

Pasting a cheerful expression on his face, he stepped forward and called out, “Well, Mr. Styles! How do you do?”

Mr. Styles startled, looking up at him and seeming quite embarrassed. “Oh, quite well. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect a visitor. I’m quite a mess.”

“How dreadful,” Louis laughed. He took a seat on the bench, next to Harry’s discarded coat, and stretched out his legs. “Really, it is I who should apologise. I meant to call on you sooner, but I was obliged to visit my grandparents. Then my mother was worried that you should perhaps be left in peace for a time.”

Harry shook his head, wiping his hands off on a cloth. “If I may be frank with you, Mr. Tomlinson, I wish for a bit less peace.  A distraction suits me better.”

That was promising indeed. Louis had not been sure to what degree Mr. Styles would be in mourning, but he had hoped to draw the other man out. Their small society could use the invigoration of a new young person. Louis teased him, “Is that why you’re digging in the ground like a common farmer?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, I shall resolve to call on you more, then. We might introduce you to some young people around town, too—if you feel ready?”

“I know people would think it strange for me to be going out into the world so soon,” Harry said hesitantly. “But the truth is that I did not know my aunt and uncle well. We corresponded a little, and I know that they must have been good people, to be willing to open their home to me only because I was family and in need. But we had never even met. And now we never shall, which grieves me. I do grieve, but—no one could say that we were close.”

Louis nodded. “I take your meaning, sir. It is an unusual situation. Well. Some of the other bachelors in town and I meet once a week to play cards. You might join us.”

“Oh, yes! I should like that very much. I am not an excellent card player but I’m sure I’ll enjoy the company.”

“They are a fun lot. We’ve all been friends since we were just boys.” Louis smiled fondly. “You must need some diversion if you’ve resorted to gardening.”

“I know it’s rather ungentlemanly, isn’t it? Lord Anderson said so.” Harry ducked his head, not enough to hide a flush on his cheeks. “But I enjoy it. I’ve always found it satisfying to care for plants. And of course it’s something I couldn’t do at sea.”

“Which always makes something all the more appealing, doesn’t it! No, I didn’t mean to tease you. Truly, I enjoy a bit of gardening myself,” Louis declared, hoping it would make Mr. Styles feel more at ease. Really, he had never tended a garden in his life, but the lie felt justified when Mr. Styles gave him a bright, hopeful smile.

“Do you? What sorts of things do you plant?”

“Oh, flowers, mostly, for my sisters.” Louis realised he had better backpedal a bit, lest he overstate his expertise and get himself in trouble. “I confess that I let the servants do much of the work when I don’t feel like it. From time to time, though, it can be very pleasant.”

“I’d like to see your garden sometime.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Louis said vaguely. His parents hardly let anyone onto the grounds, but that was difficult to say politely. Best to avoid the subject and leave before Mr. Styles could pry. Standing, he continued, “I’m afraid I must be off, but I will send you an invitation to our card-evening!”

 

* * *

 

On the appointed evening, Louis went to the Andersons’ home so that he could walk Mr. Styles over to his friend Oliver’s. Mr. Styles didn’t know his way around town; it was only polite.

He took some time to chat with the Andersons before they left. He always enjoyed his time with them. Lord Anderson was a gentleman scientist, learned, well-respected, and clever. He had done a great deal of interesting work in his long life and was full of stories. He and his wife were also both very kind and utterly polite without being fussy. Mr. Styles seemed at ease with them. Louis judged that he was settling in well.

They talked agreeably during the walk that brought them to the home of Mr. Oliver Wright. Oliver was a skinny ginger bachelor who lived alone, being a man of means and independent character. The other men present were Mr. Calvin Rodgers and Mr. Stanley Lucas, all long-time friends of Louis’. They greeted Harry warmly and quickly began peppering him with questions. Stanley immediately wanted to know about the battles he had been in at sea; Oliver said that gentlemen such as they would rather hear about beautiful women in foreign ports. Mr. Styles interrupted their bickering to laugh and say that he had never been farther than Madeira, and as for sea battles, they were a messy, unpleasant business, about which the less said, the better.

“Oh, don’t interrogate the poor man,” Louis scolded, passing a glass of wine to Mr. Styles. “Let’s play some cards.”

Oliver said, “Oh, you leave us alone, then, Tomlinson! You don’t have to be everyone’s protective older brother. Mr. Styles survived the war. He can surely survive us asking a few questions.”

The requirements of the game slowed the conversation, though they did continue to chat as they played. Mr. Styles answered their questions politely and was curious about them in turn, soon learning, for example, that Stan was the middle of five children and a lawyer.

“He’s one of the working class,” Oliver laughed.

“I’m not an idle fop like you and Louis, you mean.”

“Stan is really the most respectable of us all,” Louis said to Mr. Styles. “He’s the only one who actually does anything and he’s the one who is about to get married. It’s good that you’re here now, Harry. We’ll still have four for cards after his wife has locked him up in the house.”

He realised a moment too late that he had called Mr. Styles by his first name. They didn’t stand on ceremony during their game nights since they had all been friends since they were just boys. His mouth had run ahead of his mind and simply addressed Mr. Styles like he would any of his long-time friends. Mr. Styles didn’t seem at all offended, though. He smiled and chuckled agreeably and didn’t seem at all bothered. So. Louis would just continue to call him Harry, then.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the _only_ one who—”

“Who does anything?” Louis interrupted. “I suppose that wasn’t a fair statement to Harry, but I just meant of us four.”

Stan gave him an odd look. Louis couldn’t really have said why he didn’t want Stan to bring up his own engagement. He simply didn’t want to discuss it at the moment. Fortunately, Stan let it go, and the conversation moved along.

“I’m writing a book! That counts as doing something,” Calvin protested.

“Yes, writing a couple lines now and then is quite equal to my all of my labour,” Stan agreed wryly.

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I hope you won’t rush into getting married like that, Harry,” Oliver cut in. “I know how it can be – you’re back from the war, you’re eager to settle down and make a home before you get called back to sea, but I tell you, man, marriage just isn’t worth it. Don’t marry at all, I say, but in any case, don’t fall for the first pretty face you see.”

“Listen to him talk, like he knows anything about it!” Louis jeered. “When were you last a sailor, or a married man?”

“An intelligent man learns from the experience of others, Louis, so that he doesn’t have to subject himself to their sufferings. Anyway, Harry, you should know that I’ve made a thorough study of this subject, and there isn’t an unattached girl in this town who’s worth marrying.”

Louis snorted. “Excuse you! How very rude.”

“Well, your sisters are thoroughly off-limits. It’ll be a miracle if your parents let them talk to a man enough to form any attachment—”

“That’s really none of your concern and I’d thank you not to talk about my family like—”

“Aside from the lovely but unattainable Miss Tomlinsons,” Oliver continued breezily, “The only really eligible woman is Miss Calder, and I say that only because she has quite a lot of money, but I certainly wouldn’t want to be married to her. Shaped like a board and about as friendly as one, too.”

“As if she’d ever give you the time of day, anyway,” Calvin said. “We’re all quite safe on that count.”

Louis sighed. “You’d think these lads had been raised in the most vulgar circumstances.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Harry laughed. “I _was_ a sailor, you know.”

Despite his reassuring words, though, Harry didn’t join in or show any curiosity in the conversation about the ladies of Combe Martin.

 

* * *

 

Louis kept calling on Harry – always Harry to him, now, and Harry called him Louis – as his schedule allowed. They took walks and played cards, and Louis introduced him about the town. Lord and Lady Anderson had made some efforts in this vein, but because age had slowed them down and made them inclined to stay at home, they had only accomplished a little. Louis fancied himself a more effective guide.

He was trying to engineer a way for Harry to meet his sisters. Not to set them up in any way – that wouldn’t be suitable – but only so that his beloved sisters could meet the fellow who was quickly becoming a close friend. He thought they might arrange to encounter each other on the way to church. When he went by to coordinate with Harry, though, Louis found that he had fallen ill.

“Is it very bad?” he asked.

Lady Anderson pursed her lips. _“He’s_ quite sure that he’s near death. Truly, I’ve never had a worse patient. But I think he will be all right. He has fever and all the aches and pains that go with that, and complains of weakness in his legs, but the fever isn’t so high to make me worry for his sight.”

“But it could go up,” Louis said, suddenly alarmed.

“Of course anything is possible, but it isn’t likely. Don’t worry, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“I think he must have some of Charlotte’s flowers.”

“Oh, come, now. I know how precious that is. This is not such a dire case.”

“But it could be. An illness can change course with no warning,” Louis fretted. “If he’s so sure that he’s so ill—”

“Some men are easily convinced that the slightest cold could be their death,” Lady Anderson said wryly. “He’s young and healthy, dear.”

“Well, I’m still going to go see if any can be spared,” Louis decided, and would not be dissuaded.

Charlotte, to his surprise, was rather annoyed when Louis came to her asking for the most treasured fruit of her garden.

“You want me to just give this to someone who’s a stranger to me? He’s not our kin, not even our friend—”

“He’s _my_ friend and I’m trying to figure out how to introduce you without Mother skinning me alive!”

“And he’s not even so sick, is he? It doesn’t sound significant. You know how hard this flower is to grow, how carefully I must guard it.”

“Charlotte, please. His illness isn’t life-threatening _now,_ but what if something changes? He could lose his sight, or die, if the fever gets worse! Please, Lottie. I’m begging you.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes for so long that he thought she really would refuse him. Finally, though, she said, “I want something in return.”

“Name it.”

“I want to take one of the horses out by myself, to ride. I know the stable boy wouldn’t tell, but you must cover for me at the house.”

That was a tall order. Their overprotective parents never let the girls out by themselves. Even the garden was walled for their “protection” and privacy. The servants were always about and watching. Sneaking off was extremely difficult.

Not impossible, though. Where there was a will, there was a way, and neither Louis nor Charlotte had ever been weak-willed.

“Fine.”

She nodded and extended her hand to shake on the deal, and so it was done.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Lady Anderson sent word that Harry was recovering well. His fever had waxed and waned over a couple days, but as it had broken a full day ago and showed no signs of returning, they judged him to be on the mend.

Louis was relieved. There was a ball the coming week. He had so looked forward to Harry being there, being able to finally mix with a lively society of young people and enjoy the best that Combe Martin had to offer. It was a joint effort between the best families in town. Truly, if the ball did not impress, then nothing in this town could.

He called on Harry after allowing a bit more time for him to feel better. He found that Lady Anderson had not exaggerated at all about how dire Harry considered his illness. Though the symptoms he described were unpleasant, it sounded like a perfectly normal, perfectly survivable thing, but Harry told the tale of his sick days with great drama and verve. He really did seem to believe that he might have died were it not for “Lord Anderson’s extraordinary medicine.”

“It tasted like no medicine I’ve ever had! Very floral indeed, very strange. I tried to ask him about it but it seemed to be some sort of trade secret. Do you know it?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Well—yes, I’ve had it.”

“You must know where he gets it?”

“He makes it himself, I believe, in his laboratory.”

“But of what? It has remarkable properties—where do they come from?”

“I really couldn’t say,” Louis demurred. Harry looked ready to keep arguing, so Louis quickly started talking about the ball. Only the Tomlinson and Anderson families knew the truth about the secret ingredient in Lord Anderson’s potion. Procuring some for Harry was bad enough; to actually tell him about it would be unforgivable.

 

* * *

 

By the time of the ball, Harry had been in Combe Martin for a few weeks. Those who hadn’t yet met him were eager to. Of course everyone had at least heard of their newest citizen, along with his remarkable handsomeness; his manners, occasionally awkward but always at great pains to be polite and considerate; his reserve which, when gotten past, hid an absolutely charming and clever personality. He was already quite romanticised in some circles.

He had been reluctant about the ball, claiming to be a very poor dancer. Louis had to absolutely insist on it. He would not accept a refusal. Everyone had been looking forward to this event for weeks. It would have been a great loss not to have Harry there.

Lord and Lady Anderson did not attend. A dance such as this was a thing for young people, the single and the newly-married of Combe Martin. This meant that, as he was the one who knew Harry best, it fell primarily to Louis to introduce him to others. When Miss Edwards took Harry’s arm to introduce him to her sisters, though, Louis let them go. He wasn’t Harry’s keeper and it would be quite strange to follow him around all night. Anyway, Louis had his own social duties to attend to.

He was inquiring after the happiness of a pair of newlyweds when Beatrice arrived. She was a pretty little thing, short with a pleasing bit of plumpness and a healthy colour in her cheeks. Louis knew it was seen as quite enviable that she had attached herself to him.

He excused himself and hurried to greet her. “Bebe, here you are. Now it really will be a proper ball.”

She beamed at him and reached for his hand, giving it a discreet squeeze before dropping it. “Good evening, Louis. How goes the party? It looks lovely in here. I can’t wait to dance. And am I to finally meet this Mr. Styles? You must introduce me immediately.”

There was no more avoiding it. He smiled, offered her his arm, and led her over to where Harry was standing with the Edwards sisters, Calvin, Stanley, and Stanley’s fiancée. Harry gave them a curious look. When a break in the conversation allowed – and Beatrice squeezed his arm quite hard to alert him to the opportunity – he said, “Mr. Styles, allow me to introduce Miss Beatrice Rexha, my fiancée.”

He had wondered if Harry knew of his engagement, perhaps from something the Andersons had said. The flash of surprise on Harry’s face made Louis think that he didn’t. Then again, the expression was there and gone in a moment. Perhaps he misread it, for now Harry was smiling and giving a genteel bow. “Miss Rexha, what a pleasure to meet you.”

“How do you do, Mr. Styles? I’ve heard ever so much about you. So horrible about your aunt and uncle, my condolences. Are you settling in well in Combe Martin, do you think?”

Harry listened to this barrage of questions with an amused little smile on his lips, and answered as well as he could. Bebe was a very kind, sweet woman, but she could be rather forceful in conversation. Louis could match her easily; they had known each other their whole lives and neither had a problem talking over the other if one were talking too much. They always had fun in conversation; their ease with one another was what made Louis think their marriage would work, even though he feared he didn’t love her as a man was meant to love a woman. Conversations between them tended to be loud and full of laughter. Harry was very obviously trying not to be rude and so was letting her run right over him. Well, he would learn, if he stayed.

After a few exchanges, their conversation was interrupted by the commencement of dancing. Louis was of course obliged to ask Bebe first. He noticed Oliver murmur something to Harry. It was probably more advice on women, for Harry then asked pretty blonde Miss Edwards to dance.

The dancing was lively, joyful, and at least moderately skilled. His Bebe was a wonderful dancer. Harry was a bit clumsy, but he made it through without a disaster, and Miss Edwards smiled the whole time. Bebe made Louis stay through several dances but finally allowed herself to sit one out and get a drink. He took a seat by the wall to watch the dancing whilst Bebe freshened up, which was where Harry found him.

“Miss Rexha was hinting that I should ask her to dance. I thought I had better ask you first.”

“Well, of course,” Louis said. “It would be a relief. She will dance all night as long as she has a partner. My legs can’t manage that. Anyway, you should give a lady what she wants when it is in your power.”

Harry chuckled. “So I have been told. But I thought I should ask if—well, I just thought I should, is all. She is a very good dancer and I am not, you know.”

“A partner is a partner.”

“Hmm.” Harry was quiet for a moment before he leaned in and said in a quieter voice, “You didn’t tell me before about Miss Rexha.”

“Didn’t I?” Louis said, feigning surprise. “Surely I did.”

“I don’t recall hearing about her, but perhaps I misremember,” Harry answered, slow and doubtful.

Louis flushed. That was about as close as Harry could come to calling him a liar and still stay within the bounds of politeness. The fact that he _had_ lied did not lessen the sting.

Harry continued, “Will you marry soon?”  

“I suppose. We haven’t chosen a date.” Louis sighed. “I know I had better not make her wait too long, but I worry about leaving my sisters. Our parents rely on me a lot.”

“Surely your sisters are old enough to manage without you.”

“Yes, but—it’s complicated.”

“I don’t understand.”

How could he explain it? He didn’t agree with his parents’ extreme protectiveness of the girls. It was abnormal and unreasonable. He could never admit such a thing in public, though. It would be wrong to speak against his parents like that. Anyway, his sisters were only an excuse.

He would still go through with the marriage eventually. He wanted a family, he needed a wife and an heir, and they got on so well that he thought they could be happy. He just didn’t seem to desire her the way other men did. _That,_ however, was something he could never admit to another living soul.

“It’s just complicated,” he reiterated.

Harry looked a little hurt but he quickly mastered his expression. “All right, well, of course you don’t have to explain it to me.”

Louis shook his head. “Well. We have managed a bit of rest but I suppose we should get back to the dancing. I see some wallflowers that we had better save. Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

In the days that followed, the ball was much-discussed, and all concurred that it had been a great success. Louis privately disagreed. It had been a delightful fête, that much could not be disputed, but he feared that his own behaviour was not above reproach.

He felt a queer embarrassment when he thought of Harry. He knew that it was strange that, over weeks of friendship and seeing each other frequently, he had never mentioned his fiancée. He knew that his reasons were not right. He knew that he had been rude when Harry had pressed him on it. He was afraid that he was growing transparent and Harry would soon see right through him to a dark secret core, to his true repulsive nature.

He therefore did what any sensible person would do and avoided the problem entirely. There was plenty to do besides visiting Harry. He called on Bebe, who had hinted more than once during the ball that she had not seen him enough lately, and spent an entire day with her and her family. He indulged his sisters with hours of attention. He shared a bottle of whiskey with Calvin and Oliver and listened tolerantly as they rehashed the ball: which lady had been the most beautiful, which was starting to lose her looks, who had danced the best and the worst. (Harry, they decided, had been pretty bad, but not as bad as Mr. Cosgrove. Louis sipped his whiskey and endeavoured to have absolutely no feelings about Mr. Styles’ dancing at all. There was no amused fondness at his friend’s clumsiness and certainly no passing thoughts about wishing they lived in a world where _he_ could dance with Harry.)

Apparently, Harry did not see one awkward conversation as dissolving the friendship: after a few days of Louis’ absence, Harry came calling. Louis was in the drawing room, writing a letter while Charlotte, Felicity, and Phoebe were sketching, when a servant came in and announced that Mr. Styles was there to see him.

“Really? Here?” Louis asked, as if there were some other option. Felicity laughed at him.

“Yes, Mr. Tomlinson,” said the serving girl, smiling impishly. “I showed him to the parlour.”

“Right, very good. I’ll just, ah…” He trailed off under the amused looks the assembled ladies were giving him. Without a further word, he set the letter aside and hastily exited the room.

When he walked into the parlour, Harry positively beamed at him with a smile so wide that it carved deep dimples in his cheeks. Something fluttered in Louis’ belly, a giddy, nervous feeling. Harry’s expression was so unlike the usual reserve with which people usually greeted each other that it startled him into a laugh.  “Well, you’re in a good mood!”

“Oh! I suppose. It’s a very nice day.” Harry spoke agreeably but his face slid into a more composed expression. “I hope I’m not bothering you. Only I hadn’t seen you since the ball and I thought I should come see if you were well.”

“Quite well, yes.”  Louis wished he could call back Harry’s earlier smile, but he didn’t know how. “I’ve just been busy. How have you been?”

“Very well. The ball was lovely, wasn’t it? I enjoyed the dancing. And Lord Anderson showed me his laboratory yesterday. It was most interesting. It’s wonderful how much he has accomplished there.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“I realised that I’ve never called on you before. I saw that your gardens here are walled off. Unusual, isn’t it? What a shame! I had so hoped to see them. I’m very curious about everyone’s gardens. I think I am developing quite a passion for it.”

“Oh, it is nothing so remarkable. It is just a peaceful, private space,” Louis said dismissively. Not true at all – Charlotte’s garden was a marvel – but that was not for outsiders to know.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. Louis wondered if he would press the issue, but instead he went on,  “Well, my garden has suffered some misfortune. I trimmed those flower bushes like you advised me – well, I thought I did it like you advised, but I think I must have done something wrong, because now they look dreadful. I think I’ve killed them.”

Suddenly, Louis just couldn’t take it anymore. He’d stacked lies upon lies, unnecessary falsehoods on top of the necessary secrets, and for what? For his pride, for his wrongful efforts to get close to someone he shouldn’t? “Oh, Harry, you should never have listened to me!” he cried. “I don’t know anything about gardening! I was only giving you advice I had from my sister, and I think I got it wrong. I’m sorry. I suppose I am the one who killed your flowers.”

Harry just blinked at him for a long moment. “Wait. You don’t garden?” he asked slowly.

“No,” Louis admitted mournfully. “Charlotte has made me fetch tools or hold a pot for her, but that’s the most I’ve ever done.”

“But… then why would you tell me you did?”

To Harry’s lovely, confused face, Louis could only shrug.

“Just to give us something to talk about?” Harry wondered aloud.

Then the most shocking possible thing happened: instead of pressing more, Harry dropped his gaze and— _blushed?_ Was that a hint of pink under the fading tan on his cheeks?

Louis felt a sudden, dizzying swoop of suspicion that maybe he wasn’t the only one with a secret. But that was too good to be true.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well. That’s all right. That’s—yes, no matter. I didn’t like those bushes all that much anyway. So that’s fine. So it’s one of your sisters who gardens, then?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Louis said evenly. His heart sank. No, of course Harry wasn’t flustered or flattered by realising that Louis had been trying to get close to him. He wasn’t even offended; he hardly cared. He only wanted to know about Louis’ sisters. “Just a hobby, you know.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Well—I do wish I could speak to her. Only about the gardening—I’m not at all looking for a wife right now, you know. But people say that your sisters hardly speak to anyone.”

“I regret that you have the right of it. Our family is very private.”

“Ah, well. I suppose you don’t really care to know how the roses are doing either, then.”

“Well, I—no, that is, yes, I—I mean to say,” _I’d listen to you talk anything just to hear your voice,_ no, not that, “I can’t offer advice, but I don’t at all mind hearing about it. I hope it’s all going well. I do like gardens.”

Harry smiled softly and thanked him, but he didn’t say any more about the roses.

They spoke only a little longer before Harry took his leave. Louis was disappointed by the awkwardness between them, and more so in himself, in his stupid, persistent fondness for Harry. Still, he was pleased that Harry had visited; he hoped and thought that the other man wanted to continue their friendship.

He let Harry show himself out of the front door and went back to the door into the rest of the house. He was not surprised in the slightest to find Charlotte and Felicity there, hunkered by the door on low stools. They stood gracefully and didn’t even pretend not to have been eavesdropping.

“Was he asking about my garden?” Charlotte asked.

“Why does he care?” Felicity added.

Louis shook his head and laughed. “He just likes gardens. He acts like he’s on a quest to find the most beautiful garden in Combe Martin.”

“I wish I had someone to talk to besides all of you,” Charlotte sighed. “None of you care about my work.”

“I do, Lottie!” Felicity insisted, looping an arm around her shorter sister’s elbow. “Your garden is a wonder.”

Charlotte frowned fiercely and actually stomped one elegant foot. “Yes, but nobody _knows._ I should be able to speak to someone who would appreciate it. I should be able to show a connoisseur my efforts. What did we do to be locked up like criminals? I am done living like this, I tell you!”

“Lottie! What are you talking about?” Felicity exclaimed.

“Just what I said, and if you don’t understand me, then I don’t know what else to tell you.” Charlotte pulled her arm out of Felicity’s grip and stalked out of the room.

Louis and Felicity looked at each other in consternation. Louis asked, “What is going on with her?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps she’s just having a bad day,” Felicity said doubtfully. He didn’t think that either of them believed it.

 

* * *

 

Louis tried to talk to Charlotte about her outburst, but she wouldn’t tell him a thing. She looked sad and told him that though she appreciated his concern, there was no use discussing it because he simply couldn’t understand what it was like for a girl. He checked with all of his sisters later to find that she hadn’t confided in any of them, not even Felicity, who was closest to her in age.

He was worried and he didn’t entirely understand why. Charlotte had always been passionate and outspoken. Now that she was in her twenties, her moods were not as volatile as they had been when she was younger, but no one would say that she had a placid temper. There was nothing incredible about her being in a bad mood for a few days. Louis had a nagging feeling that something was different this time, but he could not put his finger on the reason.

He did not trust his perception. There was too much turmoil within him. The bright giddy joy of his love for Harry was marred by his guilt over it. He was engaged – he should only feel this way about Beatrice – and on top of that, to feel that way about a man! Perhaps his own guilty conscience made him see wrongness in others that wasn’t truly there. No, he could not trust himself on this.

Or so he thought, until the day Charlotte went missing.

 

* * *

 

Lady Tomlinson frowned down the breakfast table. Eight souls were dutifully gathered around the table, while one chair stood conspicuously empty. The tea was hot, the table was set, and per the rules of the household, all should have been present.

“Clara,” Lady Tomlinson called to one of the servants, “Go inform our missing Miss Tomlinson that she is late, please.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Clara curtsied and hurried away.

“She had a headache last night and went to bed early. I hope she isn’t ill,” Phoebe said.

“Then we’ll all get sick and it’ll just be awful,” Daisy complained.

But she was not ill. Clara came rushing down the stairs, pale-faced, and informed them that Miss Tomlinson was not in her room at all. There was only a note saying that she had woken early, found herself bored, and decided to take a walk.

“A walk?!” Lady Tomlinson exclaimed. “Alone? What is the girl thinking?! Mark, Louis, you must go find her and bring her back immediately.”

Lord Tomlinson patted her hand. “Jay, darling, she can’t be far, and it’s a pleasant day. A little fresh air will not hurt her. Let us take our breakfast and if she hasn’t returned by then, then we will go find her.”

“Fresh air might not hurt, but anything else could! Do you know, my cousin wrote to me that she and her friend were accosted by gypsies while they were out on a stroll!”

“Gypsies!” Lord Tomlinson laughed.

“It isn’t funny. They were frightened half to death and who knows what could have happened if a gentleman hadn’t interceded. I absolutely insist that you go after her right this instant.”

Lord Tomlinson sighed and stood, scooping up a roll along with some sliced meat. “You’d better take something to eat, son.”

There was one primary footpath that went by the Tomlinson home. Louis and his father quickly agreed that Lord Tomlinson would go one way and Louis the other. It was easy to see that she wasn’t in the open country right around the house, but there were some stands of trees and small hills that could hide her, so some exploration was necessary.

Louis strolled sedately down the path. It was a very nice morning, worth savouring. He wasn’t worried. What trouble could Charlotte find in this quiet town, on this quiet morning? She would encounter nothing more exciting than perhaps one or two others taking some fresh air. He doubted that there were any gypsies, or anyone else, about to threaten her.

He walked for a while, looping around a few likely spots, but didn’t spot her. Eventually he decided he’d gone farther than she ever would in her delicate slippers, and he turned back. Probably Father had found her, or even more likely, she had grown tired and hungry and returned home.

When he got home, she wasn’t there. Lord Tomlinson came up the drive not long after, while Lady Tomlinson was still scolding Louis for returning alone. Her consternation grew when she realised that her husband too had failed to find Charlotte.

“Well, if she walked far, perhaps she grew tired and sat to rest,” Lord Tomlinson pointed out, but he looked far less at ease than he had before.

Daisy came racing down the stairs and shouted, “There are things missing from her room! She’s—”

Lady Tomlinson shrieked. “She’s been taken!”

Daisy rolled her eyes as Lady Tomlinson broke out into messy tears. “Taken? Mother, she’s _run away.”_

“Did she tell you she was going to?” Lord Tomlinson asked sharply.

“No. It’s just obvious. We all hate living like nuns but Charlotte most of all.”

“Daisy!” Felicity cried, pressing a hand to her chest in shock.

“Well, it’s true!”

“Oh, Lord,” Louis groaned. It came rushing back to him, Charlotte angrily declaring _I am done living like this_ only a few weeks ago. He hadn’t taken her seriously. Only now did he see how sincere those words had been. Now his sister, whom he had spent most of his life protecting and looking after and loving, was missing.

Phoebe said plaintively, “But where could she have gone?”

“To Grandfather’s?” Felicity suggested. “Or… oh, I truly cannot think where she would be. Who could she have gone to? She must be with somebody.”

They all stared at each other blankly, all equally at a loss. Well, all except for Lady Tomlinson, who had collapsed into a chair and was still weeping.

“Well, I really don’t know, but we’ll look for her. We’ll knock on every door in Combe Martin if we must,” Louis finally said. “Felicity, you write to Grandpapa and Grandmama and ask if she’s there. And anyone else you can think of. Perhaps she will go to Aunt Dorothy or Uncle John. Father and I will go look for her—right?”

Lord Tomlinson nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Take horses,” Lady Tomlinson said, sniffling and wiping her nose gracelessly.

“And I can get others to help us look. Oliver—”

“No!” Lady Tomlinson cried. “If you tell your friends, then soon everyone will know.”

Louis stared at her. “Mother, Charlotte’s missing! Everyone will know because we’re about to search the town for her!”

“They’ll just know that you’re looking for her, not the why of it. _No.”_

“Well, then—then I’ll ask Mr. Styles. He doesn’t know people here well enough to gossip and he’s so quiet anyway, he wouldn’t tell.”

Lady Tomlinson just sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. It wasn’t assent but it was enough for Louis.

Lord Tomlinson nodded at him and they made their way to the stables. Tommy, the usual groomsman, wasn’t around. Mr. Silas was, but he was more of a handyman and not as good with the horses, so Louis saddled his mount himself. After a brief conference to divvy up the search area, he and his father set off.

He took the shortest route to the Andersons’. He did stop at the few homes along the way, but they had not seen a trace of Charlotte. Then he reached the Andersons’ and suddenly realised that he had to _explain_ this catastrophe to Harry.

He asked for a private moment with Harry and was shown to a parlour. As soon as the door was shut, Harry asked, “Is something wrong? You look…”

“It’s Charlotte.” Louis scrubbed a hand across his face. “She’s, oh, Lord, I think she’s run away. And that’s—I can’t understand—you mustn’t tell anyone, please, only, please help us look for her. Oh, I know it’s mad and it’s too much to ask, but we’re so worried, we don’t know where she is, and what if something terrible—”

“Louis, stop. Breathe!” Harry cried. Quite shockingly, he grabbed Louis’ hand. He gave it a squeeze and said firmly, “Take a deep breath, Lou. We’ll find her and she’s going to be fine. Okay? It will be fine. Just stop for a moment.”

Louis breathed in shakily and closed his eyes. He might keep panicking for a different reason now. Harry’s hand was warm and strong, thicker fingers gripping his own, and it was almost the only thing he could think about. What a horrible creature he was, to care so much for Harry’s touch at a time like this!

Still, he didn’t let go. It was a comfort. He squeezed Harry’s hand back, feeling very bold, and said, “I can’t stop. I need to find her. Anything could happen.”

“She’s a sensible girl, isn’t she? Very clever, you’ve said so,” Harry said soothingly. He took a seat on the sofa and pulled Louis down to sit by him.

“Yes, she is, but—the girls never go out alone, you know. Our parents are very protective. They’ve always been afraid, and I’ve always thought it was so unreasonable, that the girls would end up in a bad way, you know, but now that may be exactly what’s happening!”

“Tell me everything. When did you realise that she was gone? Did you notice anything? Any ideas where she would go?”

“She didn’t come down for breakfast. The maid found a note saying that she had gone for a walk, but then Daisy looked in her room and saw that some things were missing—”

“What sort of things?”

Louis blinked. “Clothes, I suppose? I didn’t look.”

“So you think that she packed clothes and left… what, sometime in the night?”

“It must have been in the night. Someone would have noticed otherwise.”

“Right. We should really see what’s missing. It might tell you something. But all that was gone were her own personal items? Nothing else missing or out of place?”

“Not that we noticed. I don’t know. We didn’t think about any of that.”

“It’s all right. You had a great shock.” Harry’s thumb stroked reassuringly over Louis’ knuckles. Louis had almost forgotten that Harry still had his hand, but now he blushed at the jolt of feeling from that gentle touch. Harry didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he only attributed it to Louis’ general agitation. “So nothing unusual, aside from Charlotte not being at breakfast.”

“Right. Well, I didn’t see Tommy in the stables, which was odd, but he may have been out on an errand. Though Mr. Silas hadn’t seen him yet today, either. ”

“Tommy?”

“He works in our stables and takes care of the horses.”

“Ah! I think I met him once in town. Young man, black hair?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Hm. He’s a good-looking fellow and close to Charlotte’s age. Is there any friendship or affection between them?”

“What? No!” Louis scoffed. “He’s just a stablehand. Charlotte would never—and there would hardly be any opportunity for them to speak, anyway. He doesn’t have any business in the house. I suppose he gives the girls a hand to help them onto their horses when we ride together, but that’s all.”

Harry nodded slowly. “All right. As you say. Well, I do think that you ought to go home and see if the missing items give you any clues. But let us talk about how to divide up the search and how to go about it.”

His eyes flicked down, and as if he had only just noticed that they were still holding hands, he quickly withdrew his. Later, Louis would reflect on that embarrassed look on Harry’s face and wonder yet again if he, too, could possibly be hiding the same secret as Louis. Right now, however, was not the time for that. They had to find Charlotte.

After some discussion, Harry insisted that they go back to the house to look for more clues to guide their search. A horse was saddled for him quickly, and the two made the short ride back to the Tomlinson estate at a brisk pace.

Louis only tied up the horses out front, expecting that it would not be long until they went back out again. When he entered the parlour, he saw down the hall that the door to the back garden was standing open. “That’s odd,” he murmured to himself. To Harry, he said, “Give me a moment, please, I ought to close that.”

When he was close enough to reach the door, though, he realised why it was open, and he was utterly shocked.

“Father! What are you doing?!” he yelled. “Stop that! Don’t!”

Lord Tomlinson was there, on his knees in the dirt, careless of his fine suit, ripping up Charlotte’s plants with his bare hands. Stalks and leaves were strewn around; already crumpled in the dirt were four of the yellow flowers, the precious miracle flower that Charlotte had discovered that only seemed to grow here under her careful hand.

Louis ran over and flung himself down next to Lord Tomlinson, staying his father’s hands with his own. “Good God, father, you can’t! The things she’s done with this garden!”

“What does it matter? She’s left us!” Lord Tomlinson shouted, trying to pull away. “She’ll never tend this garden again!”

A loud gasp made Louis turn his head. Harry was in the doorway – probably drawn by the shouting – and he was rushing over to them.

“You don’t know that! Father, you should be out looking for her!”

Lord Tomlinson ripped another plant out of the ground and threw it angrily to the side. “Nobody has seen her. She clearly wasn’t taken by force. Daisy is right! She ran away!”

Harry knelt slowly on the footpath and picked up one of the plants. “My God, this is it, isn’t it?”

Louis had no idea how Harry recognised it, how he knew the significance of the flower, but it was clear from his wondering tone that he did. If that were a problem, it was one for another time. “Harry, can you fetch my mother, please? Or one of the girls, or anyone.”

“Oh--yes, of course,” Harry said, and hurried off, a bunch of flowers still clutched in his hand.

Louis grabbed his father by the shoulders. “Father, stop this madness! Will you decide that Charlotte has come to a bad end without even trying to find her? Senseless destruction won’t help her. We need to--”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Lord Tomlinson said sharply. He knocked Louis’ hands away from him and stood.

Lady Tomlinson came rushing out. She shrieked when she saw the damage. “My love, what have you done!” She threw herself at him and grabbed him by the arm. “And Louis! I thought you were both out looking for Charlotte!”

“Harry and I came back to look for clues. He thought that if we knew what she had taken, that might indicate where she was planning to go. So we’re going to go look around. Come on, Harry,” Louis said hurriedly. He took Harry by the elbow and pulled him into the house. Neither of his parents would stand for him managing them, but perhaps they could talk some sense into each other.

 

* * *

 

Further investigation taught them little. A search by Felicity and one of the maids showed that Charlotte had taken a dress, a warm cloak, most of her jewelry, and a small box of letters and momentos. They could not agree on what this meant, and so they resumed the search with Louis feeling no more sure of what had happened than before. Lord Tomlinson had calmed enough by then to go back out, so they all left, each with a different area to search, and with Harry on a borrowed horse from their stables.

Louis did not give up the search until the light faded, which was late indeed. No one had seen a trace of Charlotte. She had called on no one, left a message with no one, gone to no shops, walked nowhere in anyone’s sight.

He had ridden through fields and groves in the evening, searching for a camp. She could not have gone far: no horses were missing and none of the carriage-drivers in town admitted to transporting her. She had taken slippers and riding boots, but she could not have walked far in either.

And yet, she was nowhere to be found.

He did not encounter Harry for the rest of the day. He had tried to find him to report what they had found after searching the house and Charlotte’s room, but he wasn’t in the part of town they had agreed he would search, and only a few people had seen him. Lord Anderson said that he had stopped by the house and left on a horse, yes, but Louis had no idea where he had gone. He knew only that Harry had not done what they had agreed.

He went to bed aching in his heart as much as in his body. He had failed to find Charlotte and she was out in the world, alone and scared, or in the company of someone without honour. Harry had betrayed him, comforting him and promising to help and then running off without a word. He had two wounds in his spirit, and as he curled into a sleepless night, he truly did not know which hurt more.

 

* * *

 

“Mother, we need to get more people involved. We could have dozens of people searching the area for her.”

“She’ll come home,” Lady Tomlinson murmured, gazing out the window. “She has to. She can’t possibly be _gone._ She’ll realise, and…”

Louis stared at her in consternation. She had passed from panic over Charlotte to a listless, sad resignation. As difficult as her hysteria had been, this was worse.

She frowned and leaned closer to the glass. “Wait—someone is coming. A man.”

Louis stepped up to the window and almost jumped when he looked out. “It’s Harry! That is, Mr. Styles. Well, he has some nerve, coming here now.”

Lady Tomlinson only sighed and dropped her chin into her hand.

An anger like he’d never felt before rose in him. He turned on his heel and stormed right out of the house. Harry waved as his horse trotted closer, but Louis only crossed his arms and glared. When Harry was in ear shot, he yelled, “If you’ve come here to apologise for _abandoning us,_ you had better—”

“Louis, stop!” Harry yelled back. The horse shied to the side, startled by the raised voices. Harry quickly pulled it to a stop and slid off.

Louis stomped closer. His hands were in fists; a part of him was aware that he very well might try to hit Harry if he said the wrong thing. “I will not! What you did—”

 _“I found her,”_ Harry shouted over him.

Just like that, Louis stopped, like he’d hit a wall, or perhaps like a wall had hit him. “You—what?”

“I found her,” Harry repeated, stepping closer. “I’m very sorry I didn’t send word. They weren’t in Combe Martin. I had to go a ways to find them.”

“Them? Who else are you talking about? Is she all right? Where is she? Why didn’t you bring her back?”

“She’s fine, Louis. Listen, I want your whole family to hear it all together, but I will say this—she left of her own volition, and she is safe and well. No harm has come to her, I swear that to you.”

“Oh, God. Oh, Lord, thank you.” Louis was shaking with all the emotions rushing through him. He crossed his arms again to give his trembling hands something to hold and he cleared his throat. “Let’s—take your horse to the stable, then?”

They were silent on the walk to the stable. Mr. Silas came to help, but Louis dismissed him and helped Harry unsaddle the horse himself. Carefully lifting the saddle from the beast’s back, he said, “I thought you had just decided you didn’t want to help. You were nowhere to be found and you didn’t send word.”

Harry sounded sad when he answered, “I know. I’m sorry. I had an idea, but… I think you’ll understand when you know what happened. If I was right, I thought it was best that I go alone, as a neutral party.” He sighed, rubbing the horse’s back. “And then I was right and there was a lot to think about. I spoke with her for a long time.”

Louis’ stomach churned nervously. He prayed that he was wrong about what Harry was implying. “Let’s go inside and stop keeping us all in suspense, then. Everyone has been worried sick.”

They found Lady Tomlinson in the parlour where Louis had left her, slumped in an armchair. “Mother, Harry has news from Charlotte.”

She straightened up immediately and stared at them with wide eyes. “News? _News?_ Why isn’t she _here?_ Oh, Lord, is she—”

“She’s fine, she’s perfectly fine,” Harry interrupted. “Please, can I talk to everyone, so I can tell it all at once?”

The look she gave him was long and suspicious, but finally she nodded. “Yes, all right. Louis, go get everyone.”

Of course. He didn’t want to leave Harry alone with Lady Tomlinson’s maternal panic, but Harry nodded at him, so he seemed to think he could handle the situation. He went off yelling for his sisters in a way that would have gotten him told off any other day and soon he had everyone assembled. His family filled the parlour; the doors were closed and the staff had been told to take a break. He only hoped that none of them spent their free time listening at the door.

The girls were uncharacteristically silent. Their worry was evident in the way they sat close, holding each other’s hands, fearing the worst. Louis rather wished he could hold Harry’s hand again for comfort. That was not his lot in life, though, and he had to be strong for his sisters.

Harry cleared his throat and pulled an envelope out from inside his jacket. “Charlotte wrote this and sent it with me for all of you. I could explain from my perspective, but I think I had better let Charlotte speak first. Louis, would you perhaps like to read it out?”

Louis snatched the letter out of his hand and cried, “Yes!” He pulled the note from the unsealed envelope with great haste, half-afraid that someone would stop him, and he began to read out loud.

 

> _“‘My dear family,_
> 
> _I am sorry for all the worry I have put you through. I did what I must do, and I wish that did not hurt you, but I am afraid it will. For that I apologise but I am not sorry for wanting to be happy._
> 
> _The truth is I fell in love with Thomas, the groomsman, some time ago. I have sometimes met him early in the morning to walk and talk and we formed an attachment. I know you might say that it is only because I haven’t met many men – and whose fault is that, Mother and Father? It is not mine – but it is not so. Thomas is kind and clever. I love him for so many things, his humour and his dignity and his heart. Oh, you probably don’t want to hear all about him, but he really is an excellent man._
> 
> _Don’t worry about us. His knowledge of horses is immense and he has real plans for his future. We have my income, so we can stand alone. Our children, if we are so blessed, will be happy and loved, and we will raise them well and educate them well. They may have to work, but there is no shame in that. I have really thought this through, and I know that we can be happy, and I know that you will not approve, but I decided for myself what I want out of my life. I’m sorry and I love you all very much. I pray that you can forgive me someday._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Charlotte_
> 
> _(Mrs. Thomas Napper)’”_

At first, there was only stunned silence. Louis’ eyes flew over the words again, trying to take it all in, to understand.

Felicity gave a bewildered, “What?”, her voice heartbreakingly small and sad.

“Give me the letter,” Lady Tomlinson demanded, stretching her hand out for it. “I must see that it’s truly her hand.”

Louis passed her the letter. “It is, Mother.”

Lord Tomlinson looked at Harry and said, “Mr. Styles. You know where she is. Take us to her. Let us put a stop to this before the situation gets worse. How dare she sign the letter as a married woman. As if we don’t know the law! They cannot be married yet. It isn’t possible.”

Harry shook his head. “I cannot tell you where she is, my lord. They are already married in their hearts, and will soon be legally as well. I must honour that.”

“By God, you will tell me!” Lord Tomlinson shouted, starting up out of his chair.

“Father!” Louis yelled. His heart raced with the sudden fear that his father would actually attack Harry.

Lady Tomlinson pressed the letter to her breast and started to weep. Felicity had to pry the paper from her hands to take her own look.

Lord Tomlinson didn’t move, but he glared fiercely. “If you can find them, I can, too. It will be weeks until they can marry. I will put a stop to this.”

“They will run,” Harry said. “They’re absolutely determined. I think they would go to Scotland if they must.”

“How can you think I could possibly countenance this? _”_ Lord Tomlinson demanded.

“I believe they truly love each other. Why should they not be with someone they love, someone who suits them? Why get in the way of a sincere attachment? You may see it as a ruin for her but it isn’t. And she’s so stubborn, that was obvious to me straight away. I think standing in their way will only make things worse.”

“You’re mad,” Lord Tomlinson said. To Louis’ great surprise, though, he sank back down onto his chair. His every movement spoke of sorrow and trouble.

Harry hesitated, then drew breath and said softly, “I know this is a shock, a terrible shock. I’d only like to say—please, take time and think about it. Don’t respond rashly. This is a delicate time for all of you. And how you react could affect your relationship with Char—Mrs. Napper forever. I know you are hurt and disappointed, but if you stop this, she will never forgive you. If all she sees from you is anger, she might go away and never speak to you again. If you love her, if you want to be a part of her life and her children’s lives—If you care about her even though she will not lead a gentlewoman’s life—then I think you should show her that. I know that it is not my place, I know, I _know_ that I shouldn’t be saying that, but I hate to see such a loving family so at odds with each other.”

Lady Tomlinson wiped at her eyes with shaking hands. “I think you should go.”

Harry nodded. “All right. Ah—she intends to call on you soon. She thought she should allow a little time, but she will call. And write, before then. Well. Yes, I shall go now.” He stood and gave them all a bow before he turned to leave.

“I’ll walk you out,” Louis cried, jumping up from his seat. Harry shot him a little smile and they left together.

As they walked outside, Louis blurted, “I’m sorry about my father—”, just as Harry said, “I’m sorry about all this.” They both abruptly stopped talking. Harry ran a hand through his hair, disrupting its careful order. It was a nervous gesture that Louis had not seen before.

“Do you really think it will be all right?” Louis asked wistfully.

“I think it could be, if your parents can accept the match. Can they? Can you?”

“Perhaps,” Louis murmured. “I don’t know, with them. It will be hard. As for me, in a way, I’m proud of her strength, doing this, but it just isn’t a wise match, is it?”

“Is it not?” Harry shrugged. “He isn’t wealthy but he is a good man. I’d rather have that than the other way around, wouldn’t you? Anyway, sometimes the best thing to do is not the wise, prudent thing. Sometimes caution gets you nowhere at all.”

Louis looked at him sharply—what was that supposed to mean?—but Harry was looking at the ground and didn’t even glance at him. The thought caught him painfully. What had all of his care and prudence brought him, indeed? What future had it built for him? An empty marriage to a woman he liked but could never love; perhaps a life supporting sisters whose parents’ fear had rendered them unmarriageable, for none of them were as bold as Charlotte. A life no wider than this small town with the occasional season in Bath or London. He wondered how it looked to a sailor like Harry who had travelled the world and met all manner of people.

What was his life otherwise, though? Bleak and lonely, without family, without children? There was no path to greater happiness for someone like him. No, surely caution had put him on the right path, no matter what Harry thought about it.

He eased open the door to the stable. The two of them saddled Harry’s horse. When the mare was ready, Harry didn’t mount right away. He stopped and looked at Louis, his face oddly quizzical and sad, until Louis got nervous and said, “Thank you. For finding her, I mean.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t know if it was for the best. I hope so, but I shouldn’t have done any of that. It wasn’t my place.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Yes. Well.” Harry smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and it was soon gone entirely. “I have to go now, Louis.”

Louis nodded. “I’ll call on you in a few days, when everyone is calmer.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. I’m leaving Combe Martin, and I’m not coming back.”

“What? Why? Where are you going?” Louis asked desperately.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to go. For good.”

“Is something wrong? I could help. You’ll write to us, won’t you? Or—”

“Louis!” Harry exclaimed. He sniffled, and then laughed, and grabbed him gently by the shoulders. “You can’t ask so many questions. I can’t tell you. Please. I have to go, and I just wanted to tell you goodbye properly.”

It was all too much. Charlotte had left them, and now Harry was leaving him. He had to find the strength to put his family back together and make a new one with Bebe, but in this moment, he had none at all. There was no strength to resist, only the desperate need to have what he could in the moment before Harry was gone forever, and so he lunged forward and kissed him.

That first moment of feeling Harry’s lips under his was a revelation, a jolt that shook his body and soul, everything in him crying _yes._ He only kissed him lightly, ready to be shoved away, but Harry’s hands spasmed on his shoulders and held fast, and Harry’s lips moved under his, a gasp, a caress.  He found his hands on Harry’s waist somehow, and one of Harry’s hands was on his face somehow, and Louis wasn’t sure if what Harry was doing with his mouth was even _legal._ No one had ever told him that it was possible to kiss like _that._

It was the most perfect moment of his life, kissing Mr. Harry Styles in the warm dim stable, and that thought was enough to make him sob out loud.

He tried to silence it, but that one sound was enough to break the moment. Harry pulled back and looked at him with wide, worried eyes as his thumb stroked Louis’ cheek. “I’m sorry. We mustn’t, love. I shouldn’t have.”

Which made no sense at all; Louis had kissed him first. He just hadn’t been prepared for Harry to kiss him back. He hadn’t known how painful it would be, to get what he wanted for one moment and then to lose it in the next. He hadn’t imagined how it would gut him to know it was possible for a man to love him back.

He closed his eyes and tried not to cry. “I’m sorry. _I’m_ sorry. I know it’s wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not _wrong!”_ Harry snapped. Louis startled back – he had never heard Harry speak with such heat – but Harry still held him by one shoulder and kept him where he was. His expression was dark and serious when he said, “God—it’s not wrong. I hate that you think that. Please don’t believe that, no matter what anyone says.”

There were a million questions Louis wanted to ask, starting with _Why do you think that?_ and _Wait, there are people who don’t think it’s wrong?,_ but the one that actually  came out of his mouth was, “Then why not?”

“Lou,” Harry sighed. He stepped closer and tipped his head down, leaning his forehead against Louis’.

He was so close that Louis could feel his breath on his lips. Louis put his shaking hands on Harry’s chest, just to feel, just for the thrill of being able to touch for a moment. He closed his eyes and whispered again, “Why not?”

“I want to—Louis, you’re, you’re extraordinary—but I _have_ to go. I’m going. That’s why not. I’m so sorry.”

Louis breathed. In, out, in, out. He thought of soothing the girls through their tears, calming them with kind words and gentle touches; he remembered his mother doing the same to him, when he was a little boy, before he had to be a man. He remembered these things, and breathed, and mastered himself; and he remembered what he was taught of how to be a man, and he breathed, and he stepped away.

After Harry left, he stood in the stable for a long, long time, breathing in the scents of hay and horses, putting himself together, searching the dark air for the way to go on.


	3. Part 2

Harry had genuinely believed that he had a handle on it.

He knew it was going to be hard to leave Louis. Really, he’d known that he was in trouble the moment that the gorgeous, kind, perfectly-mannered stranger had offered to help him. He had told himself then and there that he had better stay away from Mr. Tomlinson. Only Louis had taken to him right away, and he would have been a fool to sabotage the mission by refusing his friendship, and then his feelings had really gotten out of hand.

He had a full-blown crush within a week, after more time together gave him the opportunity to see how clever and cheeky Louis could be. He got in far too deep when he realised that Louis was attracted to him, too. But he had things under control.

Okay, so he had maybe looked at Louis’ lips a time or two too many. And then there was that hand-holding incident – he was pretty sure that wasn’t in the Regency manners handbook. Despite all appearances, though, he had been keeping himself in check. He reminded himself daily (hourly) why he was there, that his mission was far more important than his personal feelings. He recalled the potentially world-shattering consequences of changing the timeline with a personal relationship. When he really needed to twist the knife, he thought about the fact that having sexual relations with a person from the past was categorised as rape by deception, and he _definitely_ didn’t want to do that to Louis.

Wonderful, beautiful, delightful Louis. Who he was maybe a little (more than a little) in love with.

Louis, who he had left weeping, alone, in a barn. Who he would leave behind by centuries and never see again.

Yeah. That whole “not hurting Louis” plan had been a rousing success, hadn’t it?

But he had his specimens, and he knew he hadn’t changed anything – Charlotte’s marriage to Mr. Napper, he knew from his records, would produce a dozen children. That was meant to be. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved or said anything to the Tomlinsons, but he was only helping along what was destined to happen. It was fine.

His heart was broken and his stomach felt hollow and his head hurt from crying, but that was fine. He was completing his mission. That was good. His specimens (Charlotte Napper’s specimens) would save many, many lives. What was a broken heart or two against that? So he was fine. He had to be.

Soon he would be home. He’d see his family and friends again. He’d have all the comforts of the modern world, and oh, how he missed those things. His work would save lives.

None of these thoughts filled the hole inside him, but he could pretend they did.

 

* * *

 

The journey to Combe Martin had been an exciting adventure, but going back to the drop point was pure tedium. Everything bothered him: the heat, the dry air, his constricting period clothes, the greasy nineteenth-century hair products, the weight of his bag on his shoulders, the ache in his feet. It took him hours to find the exact location of his cache, and then the fingerprint lock to the storage chest didn’t work right away because his fingers were so sweaty and sticky. His skin crawled whenever he thought about that too much. No time cared about hygiene as much as his own, as far as he’d experienced, and so every other time was an experience in constant horror. He could mostly suppress it, but in that moment, he almost cried for want of a proper shower.

Finally, he had the retrieval dongle in hand. It was a simple device, a small metal box no bigger than his finger. One button, when pressed, registered the space-time coordinates of his current location. All he had to do was press that button, enter a code on a four-digit number pad to lock it, and hide it someplace where it wouldn’t be disturbed for a few centuries. In about five hundred years, the device would start transmitting a low-power signal using a specific encoding that wouldn’t be invented until that time. Most of the technology was very basic. The most impressive thing was the battery that could last for a thousand years.

The delivery-and-retrieval team would generally wait a few hours after sending Harry to the past, then turn on the receivers to locate the device. All they had to do was find it, plug in those coordinates, and bring Harry home.

He pressed the button on the dongle and locked it. Then he tucked it back into the hole in the rock, put the lid on it, sat down in a comfortable spot, and pulled his things into his lap to wait.

There was a protocol for what to do if not retrieved after a few minutes. The first step was to repeat the process with another dongle, in case the first one’s battery failed. If that still didn’t work, the next step was to try hiding them in other places in case that hiding spot had in fact been disturbed. Harry had had to do step one before but never step two, fortunately.

He was afraid every time that that would happen. What if he used up all of his dongles and still wasn’t retrieved? Of course, the dongles could be unlocked and reused with the same code that locked them, so one could keep trying, but what if it never worked?

The wait for retrieval was always nerve-wracking, but never more so than this trip. He was definitely in a state, sweaty and agitated. He tried not to think about the tiny risk of the dongles failing and instead amused himself by thinking of Nick’s face when they returned. How he would laugh at Harry in his dishevelled Regency hairstyle! It was almost enough to make Harry smile.

Finally, he felt the familiar tingle, the buzz of all of his molecules being pulled through time. The woods faded around him. There was a brief _nothingness_ that made some primal part of his brain scream, but before he could react, he was in a wide paved courtyard. All it had in common with the place he came from was the outcrop of rock behind him. He recognised it, of course – he was brought back from this place. But he didn’t recognise the technician.

She had the correct insignia on her chest, but her clothing was strange, and more importantly, he didn’t recognise her.

_He didn't’ recognise her._

Nick was supposed to be here. He had been the one to send Harry back. He should have done the retrieval, too. Only a few hours should have passed. There was the barest chance that something had happened to Nick – a sudden illness, a family emergency – that would have necessitated another technician stepping in. He knew all the technicians, though, every one of them, even the trainee who had only started three weeks ago, and _he didn’t recognise this woman._

Suppressing panic, he demanded, “Where’s Nick? Who _are_ you?”

She waved his retrieval device aggressively in the air and snapped, “You’re not one of our time agents! How did you get this? Who the hell are _you?”_

 

* * *

 

Apparently, Harry was nobody at all. He thought that was quite a rude thing to say right to his face.

“Well, you’re not in any of our databases. There’s nobody with your fingerprints or earprints or DNA or name in our system,” a snippy security officer informed him.

“Something’s wrong with the database, then,” Harry insisted. “I’m from here. I was born in Cheshire! I’m a citizen and a time agent!”

A tall woman narrowed her eyes at him and turned to someone else. “Could he be from back then? Could one of our agents have sent him back without them?”

Her companion was scrolling through a tablet with a deep frown on his face. “I don’t think we’ve ever sent someone to 1814 before. No, our closest drop was 1812, and all of her dongles were accounted for. I’ve got Perrie doing an inventory now to double check, but according to the system, we’re not missing any retrieval dongles, and there haven’t been any unauthorised drops. I just don’t see how this could have happened.”

Everyone was talking around him as if he were as non-existent as their databases said while he sat on the hard ground. They should have just put him in the back of a medical transport, but they must have been afraid to let him out of their sight. Instead they had draped him in a personal bio-hazard tent, which was basically a stupid clear hat with a translucent biocidal bag hanging from it. It was awkward and easy to get tangled in and it gripped uncomfortably around his ankles.

On top of that, they’d set up a restraining force field around him to keep him from going anywhere. He was uncomfortable, his vision was filled with unpleasant interference patterns from looking through both the force field and the membrane, and the way they were treating him was becoming more irksome by the moment. He drew in an angry breath, raised his voice, and demanded, “Where is Nick Grimshaw?! _He’s_ the one who did my drop! He’ll tell you!”

The technician who had received him heard him, at least. She frowned. “There’s no Nick Grimshaw working with us.”

“What? No. This doesn’t make any sense. ”

She shrugged. “Yeah, mate. This is a right mess. Are you really from 1814?”

“No! I was born in 2344! Look, okay. Shit. Is, erm, is Becker still the Prime Minister?”

“Yes, of course. Who else? But if someone else sent you here, they could’ve coached you on that.”

Harry groaned. Their disbelief was so frustrating. At least he hadn’t somehow landed on some kind of bizarro opposite world. Some things were still the same, like the Time Corps and the Prime Minister. That was something. Even if the PM was a bit of a dick and Harry didn’t like him.

“Hey, can you look some people up for me? Like, just tell me that they exist, that you can find some record of them, that’s all I mean,” Harry asked.

The technician looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them. There were quite a lot of people around, talking and milling around and typing on tablets, but they weren’t looking at him. They were too busy trying to figure out what happened and to decide what to do with him. Quite rude that _he_ wasn’t given any say in this, but there it was.

She shrugged and sighed and said, “Yeah, okay.”

Twenty minutes later, she was seated on the ground with him, just outside the tent that isolated him and his germs from everyone else. He knew that her name was Jesy and that she’d been with the Time Corps for three years. He also knew that most of the people he could name still existed—but not all. His international friends were all easy to find. It was only people in Britain that were missing.

Jesy couldn’t find a Nicholas Grimshaw. She also couldn’t find a Gemma Styles, his sister, or an Anne Twist, his mother. There was a record of his mother’s mother, but not of his mother’s father. His biological father Desmond Styles existed, but he had never had any children.

There was one very big, very obvious explanation. It made Harry want to curl into a ball and crawl under a rock and never come out. The only rock nearby was a massive outcrop that he couldn’t get underneath, though, so instead he locked eyes with Jesy and said, “I think I changed something.”

“Well, _fuck,”_ she said with feeling.

“Yeah. Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

 _That_ bit of information was like a kick to a hornet’s nest. Someone actually screamed.

“Seriously, they’re screaming? I’m the one whose entire family doesn’t exist in this timeline,” Harry grumbled. No one responded to that because no one was listening.

Eventually someone showed up and said that legally, they couldn’t detain him because they didn’t have proof that he had committed a crime. Technically he hadn’t even entered the country illegally because he hadn’t crossed a border. Being stateless or unidentifiable wasn’t a crime, just a very bad idea.

They uncuffed him and assured him that he wasn’t being _detained,_ per se, he wasn’t _under arrest,_ but the Time Corps and university affiliates would very much _appreciate_ if he went with them. He did, of course, because what the hell else was he supposed to do?

They packed him into a car with a load of chattering officials, Harry still awkwardly wrapped in the biohazard tent because no one had been considerate enough to give him a proper suit. It was an autonomous vehicle that drove under its own power to the nearest train tracks, then hooked onto a train of other cars being towed by a pilot locomotive. He was surprised by how long they had to wait for the pilot, but otherwise it worked just as he remembered.

The others decided rather quickly that Harry didn’t need to go into full quarantine as long as the cultures the med techs had taken came back negative of disease. They seemed to be saying that mainly because the quarantine suites were already in use. Also, since he hadn’t been around a sick person recently, they said he qualified for light quarantine.

In his own time, light quarantine still meant isolation, but at least you could be in your own home. He shouldn’t even have qualified for it since he had fallen ill while on his mission. These people seemed less concerned about that. They seemed more concerned about finding a way to make Harry someone else’s problem, really.

By the time the vehicle popped free of the train in London, they had decided that he should go stay with Professor Malik. In Harry’s timeline, they were very good friends. In this timeline, Zayn had no clue who Harry was, but Harry guessed that he was fundamentally the same person: inquisitive, brilliant, and never one to turn down a chance to meet someone who knew his alternate universe self.

Jesy, the technician, escorted him in. Zayn’s house wasn’t in the same place, but it was so similar inside that for just a moment, Harry felt at home. Then he noticed Zayn there, greeting him with a frown and closed-off body language instead of a hug, wearing odd wide trousers that no one would have worn in Harry’s timeline.

“Hey, Zayn,” Jesy said warmly, closing the door behind her. Harry didn’t know why she was staying, but he liked her; she had been nice so far. “This is Harry Styles, who thinks he changed something in the past and got himself into a different timeline.”

“By accident!” Harry interjected. “Hey, Zayn. Thanks for having me over. Please tell me you’re still interested in theoretical chronophysics, because have I got some data for you.”

Zayn smiled uncertainly. “Er, yeah, it’s kind of my thing. Please, come in. I’ve got some food cooking—there’ll be dinner soon—and there are a few people here in the living room. This is—”

“Oh, hey, Alani! And Rob, good to see you. How’s—oh, shit,” Harry cried before he remembered that they didn’t know him.

Rob, a middle-aged professor he knew through Zayn, laughed. “How’s what?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what your life is like here. It might not be an appropriate question.”

“Well, now we have to know,” Alani said.

“Yes, please,” Rob insisted. “I’m so curious.”

Harry flushed. “I was going to say, how’s the baby?”

Rob lit up. “Oh, she’s great! She’s doing really well. Just started sitting up. Hey, that’s so cool that in the other universe, I just a baby, too.”

“Oh, weird. Other-you’s baby is only about two months, I think -- not sitting up yet. You all probably shouldn’t be here. I’m supposed to be in quarantine. Is there a room where I can go, so I can take this damn tent off and not expose you all?”

“Oh, we’ll just drape it up like a curtain and you can sit behind it. We want to talk to you,” Zayn said.

Harry stared at him. “That is so not regulation quarantine procedure. Guys, I _was_ sick like a month ago. You have a baby!”

“It’s fine,” Rob said dismissively. “We eat a lot of kelp, and I had my auras tuned to resist disease.”

“And they told us your fast cultures came back clear. Look, I’ll set you up so you’re sitting really far from us, okay?” Zayn said.

Harry hesitated. This definitely wasn’t procedure. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to be alone, and he really shouldn’t have anything transmissible. Quarantine was a precaution; he wasn’t guaranteed or even likely to have an illness to pass on just because he’d been to the past. “Well, okay. _Really_ far away. No one can come close.”

Zayn had some floating lamps that he moved around to give Harry something to hang his tent from. Harry unsealed it down the side and hung it up to screen himself from the others.  It was a relief to be out of the thing. It had gotten so clammy. As he settled himself, Harry asked, “So do you guys actually believe me, that I came from a different timeline?”

“It’s a working hypothesis,” Zayn said coolly. He took a seat in an armchair. “I want to know what you know about us. Is it just what anyone could find out with some thorough research, or do you really know us, another version of us? And are those versions close enough that we could actually say, ah ha, yes, he knows me?”

“I think so. Where I come from, you’re still a professor, and you actually have that same painting in your living room, but it’s a different house. You got a place a couple years ago in Wood Green.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “The one with the bay window and the brick wall inside?”

“Yes!” Harry leaned forward eagerly. “You know it?”

“Yeah. I looked at it, but my partner at the time I didn’t like it. Interesting. I think the only people who would know about that are him and me and my realtor.” Zayn pursed his lips in thought. “All right, tell us more.”

Harry hesitated, then said, “Well, I’m not sure how much to say. Where I come from, we’re all good friends, and wouldn’t mind me sharing personal or embarrassing stories, because we probably all know them already anyway. Is that true?”

They all nodded. Alani leaned forward and asked, “How did we meet? How do we know each other, you and I?”

So Harry told them. He told them what he knew about their lives, and shared anecdotes as they came to mind, and they compared notes. Rob had jumped off a roof at a party in both timelines but had met his spouse almost a year later here. It was the same person, it just took longer for their paths to cross – a fact that they all thought was wonderful. Alani still had the scar on her knee but didn’t have the tattoo on her wrist. Zayn knew the story about the stolen drone, but his youngest sibling was a boy, not a girl.

Harry didn’t realise how long they’d been talking until a jaw-cracking yawn took him by surprise. He was slouched low in a nest of cushions. Alani was laying down on the rug, and even Zayn, who was shy and could be terribly uncomfortable around strangers, looked relaxed.  Harry had actually been enjoying the conversation, but he was abruptly aware that these people weren’t exactly his friends, and he wasn’t exactly a free man.

Still, he ventured, “Hey, er. Do you mind if I sleep? It’s been a bit of a day.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Zayn said. He straightened up in the chair with unique grace. “I just—last question: so it seems like nothing major is different? Just small changes from your own time.”

Harry shrugged. “I can’t exactly answer that. We’ll have to talk tomorrow about the state of the wider world, I guess, because I don’t know about it. I can tell you that I think your trousers are all insane, though. And also almost my entire family doesn’t exist in this timeline. So, that feels like a bloody big difference to me.”

Zayn’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well.” Harry sighed. “I’m trying not to think about it because I don’t even know how to process it.”

“You should. Process it, I mean,” Zayn said sagely. “But maybe not tonight. Here, let me show you to your bed.”

 

* * *

 

Sleep did not come easily, but when it did, it overstayed its welcome. Harry woke late the next morning. Hungry but nervous to go out into the house, he distracted himself by sketching on a pad of paper he found. By the time he had poor likenesses of Louis, his mother, and his sister, he was even gloomier, but not enough to stave off his need for breakfast.

He was surprised to find Zayn still at home when he came downstairs. He asked, “Do you not usually go into the office? Wait, what day is it, even?”

Zayn waved from his desk. “It’s Thursday, and yeah, I do usually go in, but I can work from home. The Corps checked in with me this morning to make sure you were still here, but they didn’t tell me anything. Just heavily implied that I should keep you where we are.”

“They didn’t even care whether you thought I was telling the truth?”

“Oh, no, they asked me loads of questions about that. So, breakfast?”

Harry laughed. There was something wonderful about the way that he was the same old Zayn. That evasiveness could be annoying, but right now it was comfortingly familiar. “Yeah, all right.”

After breakfast, Zayn got out a few tablets and full-sized computers and announced, “All right, let’s see what we can learn. Let’s look some shit up. You have your own tablet, yeah? What kind of data do you have on it? We need to compare.”

Harry picked up one of the computers and looked it over. Everything about it was familiar. “I think they nicked the tablet that I’d taken some notes on, but I have a spare in my chest because I wouldn’t open it for them and they couldn’t justify stealing _all_ my things. It won’t do us much good, though. Mostly it has a lot of information about the Regency and as much as we knew about the people I could expect to meet there. No good reason and a lot of risk in loading it up with information about the present day, you know?”

“Ah. Shit. Well, I guess we’ll just have to go off what you remember. Can I look at your tablet, though?”

Harry nodded and went to fetch it. By the time he came back, Zayn had fired up the computer and pulled up some reference websites. Harry handed over his tablet and got to work.

“It looks pretty standard,” Zayn mused. “I have one of the same model.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same about your computers. They look just like I expect. No difference at all.”

“Makes me think whatever you changed, it didn’t have any impact on technology, huh? Here, can you put in your passcode?”

After a few hours, Harry had an aching back and a short list of discrepancies. It was easy to notice recent things, like strange fashion trends, or the fact that Harissa had broken up and never put out their legendary third album, or the fact that this Britain somehow still had vestiges of a peerage system. That was just trivia, though. He needed to know what had changed back _then._

The problem was, to prepare for his mission, he had studied the events leading up to 1815 or so. Even that had focused more on things like popular music, clothing, slang, and dance: the things he most needed to fit into society.  He hadn’t studied what happened after that because he didn’t need to know.

He certainly wished he had now.

He sighed heavily and scrolled up to the top of the article he was reading, a list of historical events in 1800s England. He was looking for a needle in a haystack. Or maybe he was looking for a needle in a field of haystacks and he didn’t even know which stack to start with.

At some point, Zayn put some food down near him and he ate it without even registering what it was. He needed answers and he was desperately afraid that he wouldn’t find them.

Then, finally, _finally,_ something caught his eye.

He frowned and leaned forward, as if that would change the words on the screen. “Wait, this can’t be right.”

“Hmm? What can’t?” Zayn asked, setting down the tablet in his hand.

Harry pointed at the screen. “Slavery wasn’t abolished in the British Empire in India until the 1870s?”

Zayn craned around to look. “I don’t know anything about that, but, sure, it says so.”

“No, it can’t be. I read a book about the history of abolition once. I wish I remembered the exact date, but I think it was in, like, the 1840s. Fifties at the latest, because it was definitely before America abolished slavery, well before.”

Zayn typed something on his own tablet and his eyes skimmed over the screen. “This says it was _because_ of the international pressure after the First American Civil War that Britain finally completely did away with slavery.”

“Not in my time,” Harry insisted. He slapped his hands down on the table and laughed. “This is it! Or. Shit. Is this it? I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But it’s a big difference, pretty far back. But, okay, what next? What do we _do_ with this?”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair and stared at the computer, mentally begging it to spell everything out for him. It did not. Stupid machine.

“I think we figure out if we can connect anyone from your timeline,” Zayn said, tapping Harry’s tablet, “to the anti-slavery movement, right? I’ll be honest, this stuff is such ancient history that I’m having trouble finding anything about these people on the general internet. We need to hook up with a real historian who has access to databases we don’t. I want to copy the stuff from your tablet and we can figure out who can help us, yeah?”

“Yes, definitely! Please.”

Zayn started tapping around on the tablet to connect it to the computer. “Know any relevant historians? I sure don’t. I mean, I can ask around at the university.”

“Hm. I consulted a lot with Professor Jade Thirlwall, but I think her speciality is too early to help us. I wonder if she’s still…” Harry trailed off as he typed a search into his tablet. Moments later, he had the confirmation that Jade was still a professor and an historian in this universe. He pulled up the list of her publications. She actually had a few papers about events as late as the 1830s – either he had misremembered or her area of research wasn’t exactly the same here. To his surprise, he saw another familiar name among her co-authors.

“Niall? No fucking way,” he murmured.

“Who’s that?” Zayn asked.

Harry looked up, startled. “You don’t know Niall? Oh—I guess I was the one who introduced you, huh? He’s a good friend of mine, but in my universe, he studied American history, so I never worked with him professionally. Oh, it’d be good to see him.”

“All right, I’m going to reach out to them.” Zayn typed something quickly, then looked up at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’ll have to wait to hear back. In the meantime, want to smoke?”

 

* * *

 

The next day, they got a call from the Time Corps. Zayn put the call up on a big screen in his living room. Harry had no idea who the people were, but their frowning faces worried him. Zayn seemed to be familiar at least with some of them.

They told him that they had convened the university ethics committee, with a member from the government ethics office sitting in, to lay out guidelines for Harry’s case. In a nutshell: he was granted a provisional tier four citizenship, the kind available to longer-term visitors. This entitled him to essential benefits like medical care and basic necessities, but not to things like a university education or formal government participation. He was basically a free man but was still under investigation for suspicion of fraud and/or misuse of time travel apparatus. He was to be provided with daily updates on the status of his case, and in turn was expected to provide the investigators with any information they asked for, plus any additional information that might help them, even if not specifically requested.

They apparently didn’t have any updates on the actual investigation, as they had spent this first day merely laying the ground rules. (“And probably bickering a lot without getting anything done,” Zayn told him later.) Harry was very aware how lucky he was to live in an age when the government had structures in place for dealing fairly and ethically with people. He still wished they would just get on with it so he could prove who he was and go home.

At least he was now free to leave Zayn’s house, as a detailed medical analysis showed that he wasn’t at risk of transmitting any illnesses. They hinted rather heavily that it would still be _better_ if he stayed in, but they couldn’t compel him.

As soon as the call ended, Zayn suggested that they go for a walk, and Harry agreed in a heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

Mostly, things were as Harry remembered them. “It’s almost disappointing. I expected more from, you know, a parallel universe, a different dimension, a changed future, whatever this is.”

“Parallel universe, I think,” Zayn mused. “If the multi-worlds interpretation reflects reality, which a lot of the data suggest.”

“So you think my family still exists, somewhere? I didn’t destroy the world as I knew it?” Harry asked wistfully.

“Well, you’re still here,” Zayn pointed out. “It stands to reason that you came from somewhere, and it existed for you to come from. If everything that created you vanished in an instant, shouldn’t you have, too? Otherwise you’re a paradox.”

“But if I had disappeared, then I wouldn’t have changed something, so then the future would be the same, so then I’d exist again, and then I’d change it again…” Harry waved his hands in the air, hands circling around each other, illustrating his point.

“See? My point exactly,” Zayn said.

“How was that your point?”

“The one-world interpretation is vulnerable to all sorts of paradoxes, or getting trapped bouncing between two states, like you said.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “What if every time we travel back in time, we end up in a slightly different future than the one we came from?”

Zayn cocked his head. “No one wants to hear that, but some of us have long thought that was a possibility. Even after a perfectly routine mission, there’s probably some tiny difference that you’ll never, ever notice.”

“Well, great, I’m filled with existential horror now.”

Zayn laughed and clapped Harry on the back, as if Harry were joking—he definitely wasn’t—and steered him into an open doorway.  This must be lunch: it smelled delicious.

It looked like a fairly typical Indian restaurant. There were a few dishes that were unfamiliar to him, though. He pointed them out to Zayn and asked, “Are these just specialities of this place?”

“What? No, practically every Indian place has those,” Zayn said with a frown. “Do you not eat Indian food?”

“I do, all the time. I’ve just never seen these on a menu before.”

There was the existential horror again. How could he possibly have changed something that affected the course of British-Indian cuisine? It seemed so distant from everything that he had done.

The unfamiliar dishes were delicious, though. Harry made a mental note to look up some recipes. Maybe he could bring them back with him.

After lunch, they simply strolled around the neighbourhood. Being here reminded Harry of his first trip to America. He had expected it to be _so_ different, but on the surface, it had been a lot like home. Cars were still car-shaped and houses were still house-shaped and trees were still tree-shaped (except in California). There was far more that was familiar than that which wasn’t. He had been deeply disappointed. It had taken him a while to start to see and appreciate the differences.

Being in this timeline (universe?) was a lot like that. It seemed just like the time he had come from, and it made him angry. How could this universe not have his mother and sister in it, and yet that screechy new pop song he hated was still bloody everywhere? But then he would be jarred by something different: a street name changed, a popular song that he’d never heard before, an unfamiliar brand of clothing on all the teenagers.

A young woman with a tablet and a uniform-like shirt waved them down as they walked through a pedestrian square. “Hi, how are you? I’m with the campaign to repeal the Kershinsky ‘Family Formation’ Act. Can you spare a minute?” she asked.

Harry stopped. He’d never heard of this. Instantly, he wanted to know if it was just something he had missed or something unique to this timeline. “Sure, tell me more.”

“Well, you remember when it was passed a few years ago—”

“Sorry, no,” he interrupted. The woman looked shocked. He rushed to explain, “I may sound like I’m from here, but I’m really not. I’ve, er, been away a long time. So I don’t know anything about it.”

She frowned. “Can you vote?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. But, please, I’d really like to know about it.”

“I’m a tier one citizen,” Zayn added. “So you can educate me, too, if that makes you feel better.”

“Okay—okay, yes, of course. I mean, of course we want everyone to be informed about the situation,” she said, obviously flustered. “Well, you know, the first Family Formation Act instituted licensing requirements for people having children. That meant, like, required parenting classes, but you could do it retroactively, so some people were having children without being properly educated beforehand, and the only people who were really barred from getting a licence were people who had, like, abused children before, or who showed an intent to keep the child in unreasonable unsafe conditions. So a lot of people thought it was too lenient. But the Kershinksy amendment goes way too far. It’s been used to block, like, just people who have unusual lifestyles, and we’ve had some cases of, like, nomads, or even people who’ve changed their gender alignment too much getting denied, sometimes having newborns taken away. So, erm, can we count on your support?” She smiled nervously.

Harry turned to Zayn. “Wait, you guys need a _licence_ to have a _baby?”_

“Yeah?” Zayn shrugged. “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s bringing a whole person into the world. I think some oversight makes sense. But, yeah, this new amendment is horseshit. It seems like it leaves all this room for interpretation and everyone interpreting it is totally narrow-minded and awful.”

“That’s crazy. Being able to have children is a human right,” Harry said.

“Some people really shouldn’t, though.” Zayn suddenly stopped talking and grabbed Harry’s arm to pull him away from the confused young woman. In a lower voice, he said, “You’re telling me you lot don’t have any kind of licence?”

“No, not at all,” Harry whispered back. “That sounds really weird. I see why people think it’s a good idea but I don’t think it’s the right solution at all. Some other countries tried it but we never did.”

“Huh. Well, that’s the biggest difference you’ve noticed so far, I think, in the present day,” Zayn said. He pulled out a small tablet to make a note.

“Well, that and the hideous trousers you all wear. It’s a draw, really,” Harry said. It was a weak attempt at a joke; Zayn didn’t laugh.

 

* * *

 

They headed to the university the next morning, though not without incident: Harry freaked Zayn out a bit by making breakfast and knowing exactly how he liked his tea and eggs. They were both very quiet on the drive to campus.

He confidently led Zayn through the history building only to find that someone else inhabited the office he knew as Niall’s. His office in this timeline was on another floor entirely, it turned out, and in any case they were meeting at Dr. Thirlwall’s. She was a petite, energetic woman who introduced herself and Niall, insisting that they call her Jade, before she chirped, “So, we hear you need help with some Regency research!”

“Is that all you told them?” Harry asked Zayn.

“I told them it was for the Time Corps, but that’s it, yeah.”

Jade frowned. “Sorry, is this not just standard pre-mission research?”

“Not quite,” Zayn said drily. “But I’m not sure…”

“We have to tell them,” Harry argued. “None of this will make any sense otherwise. I’m sure this is all supposed to be very hush-hush but I just want to understand what’s happened. And, look, I know we can trust Niall. If he says we can trust Dr. Thirlwall too, then that’s good enough for me.”

Niall laughed nervously. “What’s this all about? You know you can trust me? What, have you done background checks or something?”

Niall had never once looked at Harry the way he was right now: suspicious, guarded, maybe even a bit frightened. His best friend didn’t know a thing about him.

It struck Harry anew how profoundly _alone_ he was in this place. Zayn’s easy curiosity hadn’t made him feel that way. That was Zayn, though. For as cynical as he was about people, he could believe in the strangest things, like astrology, like multiverses. Harry also just didn’t know him as well. They had only met a little over a year ago. There was more than a decade of friendship between Harry and Niall— _his_  Niall—and so the reality of _this_ Niall not knowing him was far more horrible.

Harry sat down heavily in a chair and tried very hard not to panic. “What can I say?” he mused aloud, saying something to prove himself that he could manage it. He spread his hands and forced himself to meet Jade’s and Niall’s eyes in turn. “I’m a Time Agent. I was on a mission in the Regency. I think I changed something. We want to figure out what and we’re hoping you can help.”

Jade narrowed her eyes. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I wish.”

Zayn cut in, “It’s really, really not. Look, you know I’m a professor here, too. I wouldn’t be asking for your time if I didn’t believe him.”

“Many worlds, parallel universes—that’s your area of research. You have a vested interest in this,” she pointed out.

Zayn bristled. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m unethical. The Time Corps _asked_ me to help, because of my specialty—or, well, I guess Harry asked for me because he knew of my research, but that’s practically the same.”

Niall pointed at Zayn and Harry. “Wait, wait, if you’re not just taking the piss, then you’re telling me he knew an alternate-universe version of you, aren’t you? Because how else would he know about your research?”

“Exactly,” Zayn grinned.

“Shit, guys. I’m not sure I believe you, but I really want to, because that would be _so_ cool,” Niall breathed. “Come on, Jade, you have to agree it would be the actual coolest.”

She cracked a smile at that. “Okay, yeah, sure. Unless there are potentially world-ending paradoxes or something. Those kinds of stories always have paradoxes.”

“Mm, true.” Niall propped his elbows on a desk and leaned forward curiously. “So, if you’re really from an alternate universe, what’s different? Does yours have those flying cars we’ve been waiting for for centuries? Or, like, squid-people? Or the Irish conquering the world, maybe?”

Harry laughed. “Sorry. It’s not really that different. We don’t have those massive trousers that are really in right now—”

Niall groaned. “Oh, god, take me there! Those things are _terrible.”_

“Hey,” Zayn said defensively. He wasn’t wearing such a pair at the moment but he had been yesterday.

“And we’ve found a few historical events that were different. The thing is, the post-Regency era isn’t something I know a huge amount about, so the earliest major difference I could identify was about when slavery was outlawed under the British Empire in India.”

“Oh, interesting,” Jade murmured, a delicate frown on her face. “Different in which direction?”

“In my universe, it was in, I want to say, the 1840s or 1850s? I don’t know the year but I know it was before the American Civil War. I have a briefing on everyone in the town where I was,” Harry said, pulling out his tablet, “So we were thinking, maybe the best place to start is with them—go into your databases and see if there are any differences? I don’t have a huge amount of info. It’s stuff like birth and death dates, marriages, children, family relationships—but it’s a place to start, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Niall said. He snatched the tablet up eagerly but his face fell when he got a good look at it. “Hey, there’s no way this is from an alternate universe. I have the exact same model.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess whatever I managed to change, it didn’t affect technology at all? Like I said, our timelines aren’t _that_ different. Except I don’t exist in this one.”

“Well, you do now,” Niall pointed out.

“Yeah, thanks for that, Professor.”

Niall smirked and reached for a data cable. “Can I copy your databases over? Then Jade and I can both have our own copies and not have to pass this thing back and forth.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Harry handed the tablet over and frowned. “Hey, you might want to get a computer expert to see if they can retrieve anything more from the trash. They always give me more information than I need. I don’t like to know too much about individuals because I feel like I won’t be meeting them in a natural way, you know? So I delete it, but I don’t do a hard delete. The data might still be on there.”

All three of them stared at him. Niall said, “You’re telling me you had loads more information and you just _threw it away?”_

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s _loads.”_

“What the fuck,” Zayn said under his breath.

Niall sighed heavily. “Well, I’ll take this over to a technician and see how soon they can work on it. Then I guess we can at least get started on what we have.”

For quite a while, there was little for Harry and Zayn to do. They offered to help if the historians would log them in to the same database they were using, but Niall had bluntly said that the database was difficult to use and “kind of a mess,” and that they could do it much faster.

Zayn just pulled out a tablet of his own and got back to his own work. At a loss for anything better to do, Harry started searching for Indian recipes to save on his tablet.

A few hours later, he had downloaded a dozen recipes, plus five books and eight music albums that were extremely popular yet unknown to him. He was searching for pictures of weird trendy clothes when he heard Jade murmur, “Well, that’s one.”

He perked up immediately. “One what?”

“Difference,” she said, pointing at her screen. Harry scurried around to look. She had two windows up. One was the information from Harry’s tablet, scrolled down to Charlotte (Tomlinson) Napper. The other window held the unfamiliar database and an entry for Mrs. Thomas Napper. Jade continued, “So, same marriage date in both databases. According to your records, her first three children are baby Mary in 1815, John in 1818, and Thomas in 1820. But our database shows her having a baby Mary in 1818—in January, though, not July like ‘your’ 1818 baby—and then a baby Thomas in 1820. The birthdays there are different too.”

Niall frowned. “So, for some reason, here she put off having kids?”

“Or she was trying but something went wrong? There are so many possibilities,” Jade mused. “Well, if the missing John Napper was important, or if the people of the same name aren’t actually the same people, we have no way to know. All your database says about him is that he lived to age fifty-five. Do you think you could have influenced this couple’s life, Harry?”

“Maybe? There was, erm, a disagreement between her and her family. I spoke to them all right before I left and encouraged them to reconcile. But that’s all.” He bit his lip. Could his intervention have really made her life worse and caused her to never have her first child? He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He had only wanted to ease Louis’ distress. It had certainly seemed worth it when it led him to his specimens, too. He wouldn’t have completed his mission if he hadn’t helped, and how could his minor meddling have changed the entire course of history?

His mission. His flowers.

He gasped and whipped around to grab Zayn’s arm. “Zayn! They took my specimen containers!”

“The Nappers?” Zayn asked in confusion.

“No, the-the people from the Time Corps, or the university, or whoever they were! When I got here, they took my stuff and they didn’t give me all of it back. I wasn’t thinking about—but I want those. They don’t have a right to keep my property. The ethics board said so.”

“What, you want to call them right now and demand them back?”

Zayn’s tone was sarcastic, but Harry nodded. “Yes. Right now.”

Niall made a shooing motion with his hand. “Whatever, just stop yelling in here. Make your calls. We’ll keep looking, see if we find any other discrepancies.”

Harry groaned as he stepped out into the hallway. “God, how could I forget about that? That specimen is the entire point of my mission.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe that a little thing like finding yourself in a parallel universe where no one knows you would distract you from some random plant.”

“Heeey.” Harry nudged Zayn with his elbow. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’ll do what I want,” Zayn said in a sing-song voice. He pulled out his phone and frowned at it. “I don’t even know who would have your stuff.”

“Well, erm, let’s call that, like, council that seems to be in charge of my case? They should know.”

The first person Zayn called claimed to have no idea and referred them to someone else to contact. So it went with the second person, too, and the third. The fourth put them on hold for ages. The fifth did too, but at least she said she thought she could track it down and that she would call them back.

“That’s better than nothing, I suppose,” Harry said glumly when that conversation had ended.

“Shouldn’t you hand it over to the Time Corps anyway? It’s not like you can do anything with whatever it is,” Zayn pointed out. “It’s something biological, right? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for you to even possess that.”

Harry glared. “Except when it’s in transit to HQ, and _my_ specimen isn’t at _my_ HQ yet.”

Zayn just looked at him, his face betraying no opinion. “So that’s your plan, huh? Finding out where things changed isn’t just academic.”

“Well, yeah.” Harry rubbed his chin nervously. Wasn’t it obvious? He _wasn’t supposed to be here._ Anyone could see that. Anyone could see that he had to go back.

“Hmm.” Zayn tilted his head. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he shrugged and jerked his head toward the office door. “Shall we go check on them?”

Harry agreed and they went back inside, where they found Niall and Jade frowning at a tablet together.

“Did you find something else?” Harry asked, taking a seat.

“Yeah, and this one seems bigger.” Jade angled the screen toward him. “It’s about this person, Louis Tomlinson. Did you know him?”

A chill washed over Harry. _Oh, oh no._ He swallowed hard. “Erm, yeah. He was a friend.”

“Well, look at your record of him. Born 1788; married Beatrice Rexha 1814; children born 1816, 1817, 1819, 1821; deceased 1821. Now look at our record. The only thing that’s the same is his birthdate. According to what we know, Louis Tomlinson never married and died in late 1819.”

“Oh my god. He dies that young?” Harry breathed. “Of what? Can you tell me that?”

“That’ll take a deeper search, but we can try.”

“Please.” He took a deep breath and tried to focus on what this _meant,_ but his mind was full of confusion and worry and questions. “Hey, then what happened to Beatrice?”

Niall tapped on his tablet. “Let’s see… married Oliver Wright in 1815—”

“That bloody hypocrite!”

“Children born 1819 and 1824, though that one died in infancy, and deceased 1847. That’s all I’ve got,” Niall continued. “Harry, what do you think happened? Could you have had something to do with this?”

Harry moaned and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to! _He_ kissed _me—”_

“Whoa!” Niall yelped.

“—and I told him we couldn’t and then I left! Why would he _not_ marry his fiancée?”

“You made this guy fall in love with you so hard that he left his fiancée for you? In 1814?!” Zayn sounded impressed.

“I didn’t _make_ him! I told him I was leaving. I told him…” Harry trailed off with a whimper and raised his head. “I mean, maybe it wasn’t _me._ I left, for good, forever! It wouldn’t make sense. He… he could have just changed his mind.”

Their skeptical faces told him exactly how much they believed that argument. 

Niall frowned and held up a hand. “Wait, wait. If this guy didn’t have his kids because he fell in love with you, and then _you_ don’t exist in this universe, does that mean that your boyfriend was, like, your great-great-great-great-et cetera-grandfather?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck, Niall.”

Zayn snickered. “That’s hilarious. To be fair, it doesn’t necessarily. I mean, maybe one of Louis’ grandkids introduced Harry’s n-great-grandparents to each other or something. But even if Louis were one of his ancestors, you’re talking, what, twenty generations back? Which would mean Harry has two-to-the-twentieth-power ancestors that far back, which is a lot of fuckin’ people, no pun intended, and the share of his ancestry from any one of those people is one over two-to-the-twentieth. Except not exactly, because there probably weren’t even that many people in Britain then, but still. He’s probably more related to Jade than to Louis Tomlinson.”

“You math types are so weird,” Niall said. He quickly tapped something into his tablet and let out a low whistle. “Shit, two-to-the-twentieth _is_ a really big number. I still don’t think that Harry should have been kissing his twentieth-grandpa. That’s just weird.”

“You’ve probably kissed your twentieth-cousin,” Harry said sullenly.

Zayn nodded. “Almost certainly.”

Jade threw her hands in the air and cried, “Guys, can we focus on something that actually matters? Like, say, how we could possibly know what Harry changed or what change actually influenced the future?”

“That’s a lot harder than shitty incest jokes,” Zayn said mournfully.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Louis’ life was the single largest discrepancy they could find. There were a few other individuals whose death or birth dates differed by a few days, but only Louis and Charlotte had any major differences in their lives that their limited records could reveal. Of course there were things that other people might have done, or not done, that might have mattered, that they simply couldn’t know about. Jade and Niall promised to keep looking and to see if there were anything else that might shed some light, especially if they recovered the deleted files, but they had other obligations to attend to first. Harry and Zayn reluctantly went on their way.

When they got back to the house, Zayn sat him down, looking sad and serious, and said, “I don’t think they’ll let you go back. You should prepare yourself for that.”

“But I have to.”

“Going back in time solely for your own benefit? I _know_ that’s incredibly against the rules. Going back with the express purpose of changing something? Well, you already made a change by accident. What could you change if you were trying? No one’s going to like that risk.”

“But if you’re right about multiple worlds, then nothing changes here,” Harry argued. “Maybe I create _other_ worlds but that doesn’t change this one, right?”

“That’s the theory. Emphasis on theory. Look, I don’t like it, I’m just saying, I know people. I know what they’re going to say. They’ll say this is close enough to your world that you can live here just fine, so they won’t take the risk of sending you back.”

“My family, Zayn! How can they never let me see my family again? And no one here knows me. And—and Louis. God, I might have ruined his life.”

Zayn put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, mate.”

“But how could it be because of me?” Harry went on in anguish. “I told him I wasn’t coming back, I _told_ him.”

“If you were engaged to someone you didn’t love and weren’t attracted to, and then you met Louis, would you still have married that first person?”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t be engaged to someone I didn’t love in the first place. And things were different then. Marriage was really important.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, put yourself in his shoes. He followed his heart, not the rules of the time. There’ve always been people like that. He sounds like a strong, independent spirit. Someone really special.”

“He is,” Harry whispered. “He’s really—yeah. Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes against a sudden sting of tears. “God. What have I _done?”_

 

* * *

 

Zayn stayed home again the next day, though he was more focused on his own work, frowning at his computer for hours. Harry was as annoyed by the implication that he needed a minder as he was by the implication that he couldn’t go out and start whatever trouble he wanted. Of course, he had no money or identity—his proof of citizenship not having been provided yet—so what he could do was quite limited. That was annoying, too.

If he had been free to go out, then he could have distracted himself. Well, of course Zayn’s home offered distractions. He had all manner of art supplies, video games, musical instruments, and even physical books. Harry tried to avail himself of these things. He told himself that Niall and Jade were working on their research, and the university and Time Corps were working on their investigations, so he could just play some video games. It was just that every game he found was stupid or annoying or boring. Then he tried drawing, but once again he just found himself drawing Louis and vistas from Combe Martin. _That_ only reminded him of what he was avoiding.

He felt restless, and achy in a way that wasn’t physical. There was nothing he could do. He simply tried to stay out of Zayn’s way.

When Niall rang a few days later to ask him to meet up for a drink and a review of his findings, Harry almost wept from sheer relief.

 

* * *

 

The bar that Niall had invited him to was a rather nice one, with real wood tables and a holo-screen floor that showed grass waving gently underfoot. Some of the tables had unobtrusive sound deflectors overhead to either keep a conversation from being heard beyond the table or to quiet noise from the bar. Niall was seated at a small table with the deflector already pulled into position a few feet overhead. It made him smile: of course Niall had already thought of all that.

Niall greeted him with a smile and a little wave before tapping the table to display its menu. “I already got a beer and I ordered a little food to share but I wasn’t sure what you would want to drink,” he said.

“Cheers,” Harry murmured, scrolling through the menu. There was the usual selection of alcohol and THC drinks, but he was surprised to see a more risqué section too, ranging from designer mood-enhancing drugs to some of the lighter grades of synthcaine and synthadone. Supposedly those weren’t addictive, not the way they had been back in the drug war days, but Harry had never trusted them. He gestured at that part of the menu and said, “I didn’t expect you to bring me to this kind of place.”

Niall frowned at him. “A… what kind of place? A bar?”

“A, I don’t know, a party bar?”

“Do you only go to sober bars or something? That’s all pretty standard stuff.”

“Oh. Well. That’s… different, then.” He scrolled back up to the drinks and tapped on a beer from a brewery he didn’t recognise. Might as well try the alternate-universe beer while he could.

“Is it? Are some drugs illegal where you’re from, then?” Niall asked curiously

“No, but legal doesn’t necessarily mean socially acceptable, you know?”

“Huh. Interesting.” Niall took a sip of his beer.

“Why did you want to meet here and not at the university, anyway?”

Niall shrugged. “It sounds like they’re keeping you pretty cooped up. I figured you could probably use a drink. And after the last few days of work and breaking my brain thinking about alternate universes and shit, _I_ could sure use a drink.”

A small drone drifted over to their table. Harry took his drink from it and lifted it up toward Niall. “Well, cheers, then.”

Niall tapped his glass against Harry’s and took a long pull from it. “Yeah, something like that.”

Harry’s hand clenched around his pint. “Not so cheerful? What did you find?”

“It’s just heavy stuff.” Niall laughed ruefully. “Man, I cannot believe that you had deleted all those files. There was a very nice summary report, pages and pages long, all the primary sources linked so you could click through and read them. Someone wrote that all for you and you threw it away!”

Harry grimaced at a twinge of guilt. “Well, I didn’t need it.”

“Except you do now. Okay, so first of all, I found that Louis Tomlinson’s first and second children in your universe—James and Diana—they _were_ anti-slavery and anti-poverty campaigners. James worked in India for a while and a few of his sisters visited. There are some letters from Diana to her mother about how appalling the condition of the peasantry there was. I think it’s safe to say that them not existing changed things.”

“Oh, wow.” Harry was silent for a long time as that sank in. Louis’ kids were meant to be wonderful people who made real, positive change in the world. Harry had deprived him of them, deprived history of them, through his carelessness. “Fuck.”

Niall wordlessly put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. It was comforting, that touch. Grounding. Niall didn’t waste his breath on empty words of comfort; he was simply there.

“I…” Harry started. He had to stop and swallow past a tightness in his throat. “I, erm, wondered, did you, could you figure out how Louis… what happened to him?”

“How he died?” Niall said bluntly. At Harry’s nod, he continued, “It’s hard to say exactly what it was, but—let me look at my notes, I have a timeline—okay, so I found letters in both your documents and ours mentioning pain in his legs starting in 1817. In our documents, we have a letter to his sister in 1818 complaining of being rather poorly, fatigued, trouble walking, that kind of thing. In 1819 he has breathing complaints and is basically lame in one leg and he seems to die rather suddenly. The preceding illness—I mean, could’ve been chronic bronchitis turned to pneumonia, could’ve been consumption, could’ve been cancer. It’s interesting that it took a very similar course according to your documents, leg problems followed by fatigue, lung problems, and a long illness. It’s just a bit more drawn out in your timeline.”

He gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze and added, “I’m sorry, mate. I know it’s hard to hear. I think it’s pretty clear that he was always going to get sick, though, with or without you.”

“I made it worse, though,” Harry murmured.

Niall pushed his beer toward his hand. “Have a drink.”

Morosely, Harry said, “This is not a healthy coping mechanism.” He still took the drink.

They drank in silence for a long while. Harry had finished most of his beer by the time Niall spoke again to tentatively ask, “Hey, so, I don’t know if you’ll feel like talking about this now, but—you know me, right? In your universe?”

“Oh. Yeah, I did.”

“Thought so,” Niall said smugly. “The way you said you were so sure you could trust me—but what if I’d ended up totally different?”

“Already there were a lot of similarities, though. Same job, almost, although you, that is, my Niall has a different speciality.”

“No! Really?” Niall gasped. “That’s so weird. I can’t imagine studying anything else.”

Harry told him all about himself and their friendship and got to hear about how this Niall’s life had gone. It was a welcome change of subject, at least for a while. Somehow, midway through the fourth beer, he ended up sobbing over Louis. Niall had to escort him back to Zayn’s. Instead of doing something sensible like putting Harry to bed, Zayn declared that it was important for him to get his feelings out. He opened a bottle of wine, fired up a cannabis vaporizer, and set the three of them up in a pile of cushions on his living room floor, which was where Harry woke the next day, feeling fuzzy and sick and so, so sad.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re like really in love with this Louis guy,” Zayn said.

Harry spluttered and had to spit his mouthful coffee back into his mug so he didn’t choke on it. “What? No, I, I just—”

“You were crying about him last night for _hours.”_

“That has to be an exaggeration.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Only a very, very slight one. Come on, man. I think you two are, like, soulmates.”

Harry glared and took a slow, careful drink from the coffee, his third cup of the morning. “Fuck off. That’s not even a thing.”

“Born centuries apart, somehow drawn together? He loves you so much that he broke off his engagement and never married after a single kiss with you ruined him for anyone else? You love him so much that you want to steal a time machine to get back to him?”

“I definitely didn’t say that!” Harry yelped. Had he thought it? Well, yes. But he wouldn’t go around _saying_ it. Stealing one of the machines wasn’t possible anyway. The devices were kept extremely secure and only a few people could operate them. He wasn’t one of them.

“Oh, you definitely did. You were _really_ drunk last night—”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Harry muttered sourly.

“—but I think it’s a good idea.”

“Wait, what?”

“I have to send you back so I can prove my theories, and/or fictionalise your story and get rich off it, see. I need you gone.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, okay, sure.”

Zayn grinned and shook his head. “Man, the fact that you took that as a joke instead of getting offended is the number one proof that you already knew me. Seriously, though, H. You’ve convinced me. You belong back with Louis and back with your family.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely. He smiled and leaned against the table where they were half-heartedly eating breakfast. “Surely we don’t have to jump straight to breaking and entering and theft, though. If I can convince you, maybe I can convince the people in charge, too.”

Zayn snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Very risk averse, aren’t they? That’s all I’m saying.”

Harry blew out a frustrated breath. “What’s the risk?!”

“That all depends on your point of view.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days dragged on in quiet and in skin-prickling uncertainty. Niall and Jade finished and submitted their report. Zayn submitted his own entirely unsolicited report. They waited.

Documents came through with Harry’s provisional citizenship, which included, because he had no means of his own, a small basic income. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to live off of in London if someone weren’t giving him a place to stay. He wondered if he could get a job here. All of his skills and knowledge were just as useful here, but he couldn’t prove any of his credentials; he had no references, no history. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He went out into the city on his own. He wasn’t supposed to, but he quickly became bored and frustrated enough not to care about that. Zayn had rapidly lost interest in being his nanny. He had money now to get around and buy things. It was constantly unnerving, though—so like home that he could forget that he was in an alternate universe, until something unfamiliar would jolt him and tumble him back down to uncertainty and fear and despair.

He hated that feeling. He could get through it, probably. With time, it could become as normal and familiar as anywhere. But he didn’t really want that. He didn’t want to feel at home here. He wanted to _be home._

Apparently, though, the risks of world-ending paradoxes were too high for that. So he learned when, after an excruciating two weeks, the committee finally met to decide his fate.

Calling it a committee was a laughable understatement. There were a huge amount of people. Probably most important were the half dozen representatives from the Nations in Cooperation, whose Temporal Operations Council oversaw all time-travel programs to ensure that their operations benefitted all of humanity rather than selfish interests. There were also university officials, a dozen administrators from the Time Corps, a dozen representatives from the Security and Safety Ministry, various other people who mainly seemed to be from the government, several professors from several universities. And those were just the officials who were supposed to be there.

Officially, it was required to be an open-door meeting, but as the officials had kept Harry’s situation quiet, they clearly had not expected anyone else to show up. To their obvious dismay, though, most of the British Time Corps staff showed up. Harry noticed a lot of them giving Zayn little nods and waves. He wondered if it were Zayn who had spread the word about the time and place of the meeting, and if so, why. There were so many people that they had to scramble to find a larger room.

They did let Harry speak, but his testimony felt like a drop in the bucket after everyone in the room had their say. It dragged on for hours. A number of professors noted that, if the many-worlds theory were true, there would be no harm at all in sending Harry back: if he changed things, it would only spawn new alternative realities with no effect on their own. There were quite a few distinguished, clearly esteemed people who said this. Then there was one professor who argued against many-worlds and pointed out that _if_ the many-worlds theorists were wrong, their world could be irrevocably changed. Sure, there might be _evidence_ for many worlds, but it wasn’t _proven,_ and could they really take that sort of risk?

The international Temporal Operations Council would not. They said quite firmly that if there was any chance that sending Harry back could destroy the world as they knew it, then they could not allow it. The whole world was more important than one man.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even blame them for that. Of course they were right.

 

* * *

 

Harry spent most of the next three days curled in a ball on Zayn’s couch. There was nothing good or healthy about it, but he truly couldn’t do anything else.

It _hurt._

Loss was a physical pain, like his chest was full of glass shards that cut him with every breath. Each inhale summoned another face he would never see his again. His mother. His sister. Nick. Louis. All the other friends whose name he couldn’t find, and then—who had he forgotten? Whose absence was yet undiscovered, another sharp edge to cut himself on as he fumbled through this world?

He could live without them, but fuck, he didn’t want to have to.

And then Louis. God, _Louis._ He had told himself over and over that nothing could ever happen between them. He had known all along that he would leave and never see Louis again. But then there was that _kiss._ And then there was the fact that he had apparently ruined Louis’ life and he would never be able to fix it because it had all happened five hundred years ago.

So he lay on Zayn’s couch and stared off into space and cried. He was vaguely aware that he was being awful, but he couldn’t manage to care about it. He had just lost his whole world, his whole _life._ This world ought to cut him some fucking slack. Anyway, he had no job, nothing to do, and no family. He didn’t even have a cat to get up and care for. What did it matter if he cried on the couch for a week or a month or a year?

On the third night, Zayn shook him awake. Harry groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes. As he slowly came to, he realised that he was curled around a blanket, that one of his legs was hanging off the sofa, and that Zayn was grinning at him.

“Whassit? Are you finally kicking me out onto the street?” Harry mumbled.

Zayn snorted. “Sort of. Come on, Mopey. Up and at ‘em. I have a surprise for you.”

He ushered Harry to the bathroom and pushed him toward the shower with orders to “pretty yourself up. Or at least wash off the stink.”

Harry washed slowly. If it were his last time enjoying Zayn’s beautiful home, he should savour it. So he told himself. Actually, he wasn’t enjoying it, but moving any more energetically felt impossible. His limbs were heavy and his mind was wrapped in a fog of sorrow and the kind of exhaustion that comes of not moving for three days.

When he emerged, Zayn was waiting for him with a cup of coffee and a snack. “Here, have this. Then we go. You can skateboard, right? I reckon other-me would’ve insisted on you learning.”

“Yeah, you did. Why?”

“Okay, good,” Zayn said brightly. “We’re going to skate to the university.”

“Uh, no,” Harry said flatly. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you know what, it doesn’t even matter, because there’s no way I’m doing that.”

“Ah, but you are. Look on the bright side: it’s arse o’clock in the morning, no one will be on the road. Smooth sailing.” Zayn took a sip of his coffee and winked at Harry. Winked!

Harry could only stare at him in disbelief. “If this is supposed to cheer me up or something—”

“I reckon it will, but that’s not actually the point. Come on, Harry. This is happening.”

Harry was deeply, deeply confused. Though he said no, he didn’t truly have the energy to resist whatever scheme his friend had concocted. When Zayn handed him a large backpack, some stick-on visibility transmitters, and a skateboard, he sighed heavily, took them, and skated off into the night with Zayn.

The streets weren’t really empty – London was a big city and there were people awake at all hours – but the non-motorized-vehicle lanes were clear as could be. The night air was cool and crisp. It was beautiful in the way that cities at night always are. There was joy in this. Harry could sense it pressing in on the wounded numbness that enveloped him, but he couldn’t truly feel it. He wiped his eyes with a shaking hand. He had better not cry while skateboarding.

Eventually they made it to the university campus where they rolled past the graceful trees and the odd mix of modern and ancient buildings. Finally, Zayn hopped off his board in front of a familiar building.

Harry breathed in sharply when he recognised it. “Why are we _here?”_

“Come on,” Zayn said, scooping up his board. He waved Harry onward into a courtyard. The courtyard looked totally still and empty. Then, as Harry stepped forward, it suddenly wasn’t empty anymore. There was a figure in black with some mysterious equipment in their hands. Harry actually jumped.

Zayn chuckled. “Holo field,” he explained, putting a steadying hand on Harry’s elbow. “Keep quiet—it’s only visual.”

“How the fuck do you have something like that?” Harry squeaked. He knew how restricted those things were.

“It’s not mine,” Zayn said, as if that clarified anything.

As they stepped closer, the figure in black turned and waved at them. Harry could see now that the person was a pretty young woman. “Hey, Zayn. Everyone’s inside.”

“Your doohickie worked?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

“Thanks, Leigh. Let’s all get inside, then.” Zayn held the door open as she disconnected her device from the entry card reader and followed them in. He seemed to feel more free to speak once they were inside, for he turned to Harry and said, “Of course the others have keys to this building, but we don’t want there to be a record of who was here. That’s also why no one took a car here. We all agreed—nothing traceable.”

“Jesy’s fucking pissed. She had to bike thirty-five kilometers,” Leigh said.

“Jesy? The technician I met my first day here?” Harry asked.

Leigh nodded. “Of course. Everyone’s here.”

“Are you part of Time Corps?”

Zayn said, “Leigh’s a computer security researcher here at the university, which basically means she’s a hacker with a heart of gold. She’s a friend of mine.”

Leigh grinned. Harry couldn’t really muster a smile back. Zayn and Leigh were both so excited, but he still didn’t understand what was going on.

It became a little clearer when they turned into a small room crammed with a dozen people. Several were Time Corps technicians who Harry recognised. Niall was there, too. Then there were a few people Harry didn’t know, including a petite woman who was frowning at a computer.

“Cracked it yet?” Zayn asked.

The woman at the computer sighed. “I’m just trying to brute-force it with off-the-shelf shit so this doesn’t come back to me, and when I say shit, I mean shit. I’m pretty sure this algorithm was invented an entire century ago. Okay.” She looked around the room. “Who here has the stupidest password? Admit it, who has, like, fucking 123-your-dog’s-name?”

There was a long silence. She glared at everyone in turn until finally a tall man slowly raised his hand and said, “If I’m honest, mine’s pretty stupid.”

“All right! Your account, my friend, is getting hacked.” She turned decisively back to the computer and started scrolling.

Harry had to laugh out loud. He shook his head. “Well, _you’re_ the same in both universes, Ben.”

“Hey!” Ben looked hurt. “Jeez, I’m doing you a favour and you come in and make fun of me?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much our dynamic. Except with you taking the piss right back,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“Okay, well, you’re risking destroying the world so you can go hang out with your Regency boyfriend, so you can just fuck right off,” Ben said, pressing his lips together into one of the fakest, most condescending smiles Harry had ever seen on his face.

“Ow.” Harry clapped a hand to his heart. “Hey, you don’t think I’m really going to destroy the world, do you? Because I wouldn’t—”

“Fuck yes, I’m in,” said the woman at the computer. “That was fast. You’re an idiot, Ben.”

“You can fuck off, too, Sarah,” Ben said morosely.

“And is all this hacking really going to help? You can get the TReD but someone still has to use biometrics to activate it. What happens to that person?” Harry absent-mindedly started chewing on his thumbnail. The biometrics that prevented anyone but a permitted user to access the Temporal Relocation Device were critical. There was no password override. An authorised person _had_ to activate it with their unique body and there would always be a log of that.

“Oh, I see your brain’s back online,” Zayn said.

“Biometrics can be faked like anything else,” Leigh said. She rooted around in a bag at her side, then pulled out something that, horrifyingly, looked a lot like a human finger. “The thing is that you need a lot of access to the person you’re spoofing if you’re going to get detailed records of and copy their biometrics. A 3D printer and some circuitry and boom. Perfect replica of Jesy’s finger, including a simulation of her heartbeat.”

Jesy grinned and added, “And I’ll be out with my family when you’re transported. We’re going to the all-night zero-gravity-ball place. There will be loads of proof that I couldn’t have been there to send you back in time.”

“There’s no way to hide that we used the TReD, so we’re just trying to make it as confusing as possible,” Zayn said. “Hence the hacking, and then the fact that most of the techs are here right now means even if you figure out who was here, who’s to blame, you know?”

Ben smirked. “We’ve all taken a vow of silence.”

Harry stared, stunned. He ran his hands through his hair and asked, “Why would you do this for me? God, this is so fucking _much._ Someone could go to jail! I could destroy the world!”

Ben shrugged. “If we do this right, no one’s going to jail. Sarah will leave her little password cracker for evidence of the hack. How’re they going to figure out who to blame? So even if any of us do get convicted, we reckon it won’t be that long or that bad.”

It was true that the world had moved on from the barbaric ages when people would get their hand cut off for stealing a loaf of bread or be imprisoned for a decade for smoking the wrong kind of cigarette. Still, time travel was incredibly serious stuff, not to be messed with. Harry didn’t even know what the consequences could be, but he found it hard to believe they’d get off lightly. He crossed his arms and tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut.

“And we’re not going to destroy the world. Everything about your existence here already supports the many-worlds theory. Just think—if you leave and you never come back and we never find any trace of you in history, then we’ll _know!”_ Zayn beamed. His eyes actually sparkled as he spoke. He laughed and added, “And if you destroy our timeline, then it’s not like we all explode and suffer. We just will have never existed. We won’t know. But that’s not going to happen. We’re going to send you back and I’m going to write papers about it and finally solidly prove this theory.”

Leigh laughed. “If you get a Nobel prize, you’d better give us all a cut.”

“Hey, if something happens and you don’t come back—like, you live out your life with Louis or something—let us know,” Niall said. “Charlotte Napper kept tons of letters, so write to her. Or figure out some way to leave a note.”

“This is too much. You can’t…” Harry shook his head.

Zayn put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Listen. We’ve already all done like sixteen illegal things. So get with the bloody program and just go with it.”

Ben nodded. “This is for true love and justice and all that soppy shit. And also for science.”

Sarah, the other hacker, called, “All right, I’ve got TReD serial number XB572599 unlocked and activated. Someone go get it. It’s time to clean this up and get the fuck out of here.”

Jesy fetched the TReD and handed it off to Zayn, who carefully put it into a large duffel bag. To Harry’s surprise, a number of the technicians wished him luck and even patted his shoulder on their way out. Sarah logged out of the computer and batted her password cracker to the ground, as if she had dropped it during a hasty escape. Then she got to work with a spray bottle and a cloth to wipe fingerprints from any surfaces they had touched.

“All right, Harry, let’s go,” Niall said. He and Zayn started walking, so Harry followed.

“None of the technicians are coming with us?” Harry asked.

Zayn said, “Nah. They’ll all be with witnesses to vouch for their locations by the time we send you back. Ben and Jesy showed me how to do it. It’s not a difficult interface, really. There are just a few secret tricks that you have to know, but the hard part is the biometrics.”

Niall added, “They also told us the closest safe drop point. It’s not going to be as close as your original one, but it’s faster and safer for us, so…”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry frowned. “But, wait. The TReD will record the drop, and there’ll be a car whose logs say you went to that point.”

“You’re wrong on the second point.” Niall grinned as he pushed open a door to the outside.

“Oh, God, are we skateboarding to the drop point, too? With all these bags?”

Niall laughed. “Fuck no. I’ve got something better than that. Just wait.”

They walked a few blocks through the darkness to a narrow side street. Niall walked up to a car that at first glance looked perfectly normal. As he drew closer, though, Harry noticed first that it didn’t have any sort of manufacturer’s logo on it, and secondly that Niall unlocked it with an actual physical key.

When Harry opened a door and looked inside, things got even weirder. The car had a steering wheel, like the old-timey bumper cars at amusement parks, and instead of a computer screen up front, it just had a lot of numbers and dials with physical hands like antique clocks.

“Wait, this is a… a non-automatic car?” Harry asked uncertainly. “You can actually drive it? Is this, like, a super old car that you put some newer car’s exterior on top of, or something?”

“No, no. There hasn’t been a commercially-made all-mechanical car like this in centuries. Any that still exist are in museums and they definitely don’t run anymore. No, my partner built this.” Niall beamed. “Total gearhead, that one. They’re pretty amazing. I never thought about cars before we got together but they got me hooked. Like I said, it’s one hundred percent mechanical. There’s not a single circuit board in this baby.”

“Whoa. That’s so _weird,”_ Harry marvelled. “Is it even legal?”

Niall laughed. “Harry, have you never met a driving enthusiast? It’s a very niche hobby but it’s a thing. Yes, human-driven cars are legal. They’re not allowed on motorways, though, plus you’re automatically on the hook for all damages if you’re involved in an accident whilst driving one. No one wants to take that kind of risk just to creep along on little side streets. Except for us!”

His words were apt. It was far from the high-speed getaway that their high-stakes theft deserved. The car crawled through deserted, narrow streets with low speed limits, vibrating and rumbling strangely all the while. It was an excruciating drive. A journey that should have taken thirty minutes instead took two hours. Harry spent the entire drive sweating and looking anxiously out the windows to the point that Zayn threatened to throw a bag over his head, like he was a nervous bird whose cage needed covering.

They came to a park, one that Harry already knew. It was a good drop point for London up until the 1940s. It would certainly serve their purpose.

“You’d better get changed,” Zayn said.

Harry startled. “Oh my god, my things!”

“Are in the backpacks we brought,” Zayn laughed. “They’re in the back of the car. You’d better figure out how to use your brain again before you see your man.”

“He’s not mine,” Harry mumbled. He tried to flee the car but had an awkward moment trying to find and figure out the unfamiliar handle. Finally he stumbled out and hurried round to the boot. Inside the backpacks were all his things, as promised, including the suit he had worn when he left Combe Martin. He stripped and changed with practised speed. He didn’t have any proper pomade for his hair; it hadn’t been necessary to bring along. That was unfortunate but not ruinous. He’d show up in the past looking dishevelled, but he would be able to get more of the stuff soon enough.

Soon. His breath caught. He was going back. Back to 1814, back to Combe Martin. Back to Louis. It was wonderful beyond words to know that he would see Louis again, to imagine that he would touch his hand, might hold him in his arms and kiss him again. But that was only if things went right. It could all go so horribly wrong.

When he looked up from dressing, Zayn was gone. Niall was leaning against a tree. He waved Harry over when he saw him looking. Once he got close enough, Zayn appeared out of thin air—the holo field again. “Oh!” he exclaimed.

Zayn was sitting on the ground to set up the TReD. Without looking up, he said, “Heya, Harry. Your duffel bag is in the backpacks somewhere if you want to get repacked.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” There was no way to explain those backpacks.

He quickly stowed his things in the thick canvas bag, including the precious specimen container, then sat back to watch Zayn at work. He wasn’t as quick to set it up as the actual technicians. Still, it wasn’t very long before Zayn was saying, “Okay, I think we’re ready to go. Harry, you can get onto the pad.”

Harry blew out a long, shaky breath and got into position. “Thank you guys so, so much. I wish I had something more than just ‘thank you.’ It’s so inadequate for what you’ve done.”

“You gave us some fascinating work, told us about a parallel universe, and let me finally do the heist of my dreams.” Niall grinned. “I’ll accept your thanks, but don’t worry about it not being enough. It was very nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Good luck!” Zayn cried. Then he pressed the final sequence of keys, and then Harry was gone.

 

* * *

 

It would take Harry nearly a week to get back to Combe Martin. With a fast coach, the journey could have been made in two days. However, he wasn’t inclined to rush. First of all, he needed more clothing than just the suit on his back. Second, he had no idea what he was going to tell Louis.

The officially correct thing to do would be to convince Louis to marry Miss Rexha without revealing anything at all and to return to his own time with everything set to rights. Perhaps he flattered himself, but he thought that he could do it. He had been able, inadvertent though it was, to convince Louis to break off his engagement. Surely, then, he had the influence to do the opposite.

That was the right thing to do according to all his training, to all his understanding of time travel and timelines.

It didn’t feel right to his heart, though.

Well, he had a week to figure it out.


	4. Part 3

Louis watched himself in the mirror as he slowly tied his cravat. His face was perfectly impassive. It was a wonder that none of his inner turmoil showed on his face, but then, he had plenty of practice. He tried a pleasant, friendly smile. He couldn’t make it reach his eyes, but it would do.

He thought again about putting it off.  But—no. His mind was made up. It was cruel to delay, and cowardly. She was not  _ too  _ old to find another husband, but it would be wrong to waste time that she could ill afford to lose.

A knock at his door startled him out of his reverie. He called for the person to enter. A maid, Clara, opened the door to say, “Sir, Mr. Styles is here to see you.”

“Mr. Styles!” he exclaimed, turning to look at her incredulously. “You can’t possibly mean Harry Styles—he said he was leaving and he wouldn’t be back.”

“Aye, sir, him indeed, for surely I’ve never heard of another by that name,” Clara said. 

For God’s sake! Louis had been counting on him staying away, considering his horrifying actions when they last parted. He couldn’t imagine why Harry would be back. To call him out for his bad behaviour, perhaps. He imagined furious recriminations, a call to duel, a public shaming. No, that didn’t make sense – Harry hadn’t been angry at the time. Maybe he had become so, after time to reflect, though. Or maybe he was back to seduce Louis, to tempt him in to yet more evil deeds! 

The strange, shivery feeling that  _ that  _ thought gave him was surely nothing good. If Harry meant him ill, that was bad, but if Harry didn’t, that might be even worse. Louis shook his head and said, “I shan’t see him. You must tell him that I am not here.”

Clara’s face fell. “Oh—sir, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I already told him you were home.”

Louis sighed. Of course everyone knew Harry as his friend; there was no reason, as far as anyone else in their household knew, to think that Louis would wish to avoid him. He bit his tongue and held back his irritation. It wasn’t Clara’s fault. 

“Shall I tell him you’re poorly?” she asked. 

It was a tempting idea, but then he would have to stay home for the rest of the day lest he encounter Harry about town and expose himself as a liar. He had put this errand off long enough. Glumly, he said, “No, thank you. Please tell him I’ll be down shortly.”

He took a minute to steel himself. He was a gentleman, he was strong, he was a Tomlinson. He could face Harry Styles and then go break Bebe’s heart. 

He sighed again and sent a quick wish to heaven that he might get some respite after these painful last few weeks. Then he went downstairs. 

Harry was waiting in the parlour. He stood when Louis entered and smiled uncertainly. 

“Well, this is a surprise,” Louis greeted him.

Harry nodded. “Yes, erm, my plans weren’t as solid as I believed them to be. So. Here I am.”

“Are you back for good, then?” Louis asked, truly not knowing what answer he hoped for.

“I’m not sure. Probably not, but, well, I just don’t know yet.”

“Ah.”

They both fell silent. Harry fidgeted, the fingers of one hand playing over the other, and watched him. Louis didn’t offer him a seat or a drink; Harry didn’t offer a reason for being there. It was terribly awkward. 

Finally, Louis started, “Well, I—” just as Harry opened his mouth and said, “I suppose—”

They both stopped. Harry laughed humorlessly and ran a hand over his hair. “You don’t want me here.”

“I, no, that’s not it,” Louis said, taken aback by the bluntness. “Only, I was on my way out. You could walk with me,” he offered. He hadn’t meant to, really, but apparently he was still far too weak in the face of Harry Styles.

“I would be glad to,” Harry answered. 

Louis still didn’t understand why Harry was here, what he intended, or what he thought of Louis after that impetuous kiss. He was afraid to find out, so instead of asking, he filled the silence with whatever he could think of. He spoke of the recent cool weather and barely paused for breath as he mused on needing a new coat for the winter. A squirrel reminded him that the girls had recently found a litter of kittens. He rambled on about those for a while until Harry rather rudely interrupted to say, “Oh, and what of Mrs. Napper? Is she well? Have you seen her?”

“Ah,” Louis sighed. “It’s still Miss Tomlinson, you know. She wrote to us and said that she had decided that she would not visit until she was properly married. Father and I went to see her. Well, my father was very agitated and saying that he would go to her and bring her back. I went along to keep him in check.”

“And did you?”

“I fancy I did. He didn’t shoot Tommy or kidnap Charlotte, anyway. I suppose that’s the best I could hope for.”

“Ah,” Harry sighed, as if he could hear all that Louis had left unsaid. The scene had begun as an uncomfortable one and ended in shouting and weeping. Lord Tomlinson had been persuaded to leave Charlotte there only because he was convinced that she was already ruined and that no one else would marry her now, as she had been under the same roof as Tommy for some time already. A most unpleasant business. 

Harry broke into his reminisces to ask, “And where are we going now?”

“If you must know,  _ I  _ am going to call on Miss Rexha.”

“Oh! It’s a long walk,” Harry observed. “Well, how nice. I’m sure that visiting your fiancée will bring you some cheer after all these difficulties lately.”

Louis laughed bitterly. “You think so, do you? Perhaps you should call on Miss Rexha, then.”  

Harry frowned. “Whatever do you mean, Louis?  Have you and Miss Rexha had a disagreement?”

“No, it’s not that.” Louis hesitated. He shouldn’t talk to Harry about this. They could not be confidants, not after what happened in that barn. Louis might long for a repeat of that event, but it would be wrong to allow that to happen. Wouldn’t it? 

Would it? It wouldn’t hurt anyone. If they were discreet—if they didn’t do anything to suggest that others should emulate their sins—then they were not hurting anyone but themselves, and God already knew that he had sinned. Any judgment for that was in God’s hands now. He thought he would not be pulling Harry into anything that he wouldn’t do with or without Louis’ influence. From what he had said, Louis strongly suspected that Harry had sinned in this way, too. 

Probably more than Louis had. 

“What, then?” Harry prompted after Louis had been silent for too long.

Out with it. Harry would hear about it soon enough anyway. “The truth is, I’m going to end our engagement.”

“What! Why?”

“I feel I must. Recently, I realised that it would be a cruelty and a misery for both of us if I went through with it. I would condemn us both to unhappiness.”

“When has marriage been about happiness? At least for men of your station?”

“You sound like my grandfather.” Louis laughed hollowly. “Isn’t it the best thing if there’s love there, too, though, as long as the marriage is sensible too? You’re right that people sometimes marry for reasons other than love. But most marriages at least hold the possibility of happiness, I think. You hope to be able to grow to love each other. An ambivalent marriage is one thing, but to be truly miserable… and it doesn’t have to be so. Neither one of us will be ruined for want of this marriage. It will be a difficulty and an embarrassment, certainly, but it will be for the best.”

“But why would it be so miserable? I thought you and Miss Rexha were friends. You seem very fond of each other.”

“We are. But, well.” Louis sighed heavily. He lowered his voice, though no one was around, as he said, “I thought we could be happy. I thought that being fond of her was enough, I suppose because I had never loved someone in that way, and I did not expect that I ever would. Now that I have, I think I should always feel the lack of that in our marriage. So would she, I believe.”

“Oh, Louis,” Harry said sadly. 

Louis looked resolutely ahead as they walked. “I don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings. I came to this decision believing that you were gone for good, you see.”

“Yes, I see that,” Harry murmured. “Oh, but Louis. I must blame myself for pulling you off the path that you were on so contentedly before. Think of how disappointed your families will be and how this will hurt Miss Rexha. Don’t you want a wife and children? Don’t you want to have a family like anyone else?”

Louis dared to glance at Harry and found him biting his lip like a child. “I thought you said you didn’t think there was anything wrong with—with feeling how I do.”

Harry frowned deeply. “I  _ don’t.  _ But it’s also not wrong to, to wish to fit in to your society and to keep up your family line and all that. What happens to your sisters if you don’t have a son to inherit your family’s property?”

“Our cousin, the next in line after me, he’s a good man. He won’t be cruel.” Louis hoped he wouldn’t be cruel. “Why are you trying to talk me into this? You’re the one person I would have expected to accept my decision.”

Harry was silent for a while as they walked. Finally, he answered in his slow, drawling voice, “I’m worried for you. I’ve been to a place where it’s possible for two men—or two women—to love each other freely.” Louis gasped, shocked that anyone would even say such a thing so openly. Harry went on, “But that place is far away. Here, where your only chance to have a family and a normal life is with Miss Rexha, surely you must take it. Even if you don’t love her, isn’t it better to be with someone you like than to be alone?” 

“Well, no, I don’t think so at all.”  _ Alone.  _ So Harry didn’t intend to stay or to be with him, then. Louis hadn’t realised until now that a small part of him had been hoping for that when Harry reappeared. To mask his hurt, he attempted to joke. “Where is this mystical place? Can you take me there?”

Harry didn’t smile. He shook his head and looked mournful. “I wish I could. It’s very, very far away.”

Louis scoffed. “Of course it is. Well, here is Miss Rexha’s house. I must take my leave, Harry, for though you may not love me, this is still my choice.”

“I may not?” Harry exclaimed hotly. He said something then that Louis couldn’t understand. He thought it was a different language until he recognised a few words and realised that Harry might only speaking in some strange, heavy accent. 

“What was  _ that?”  _ he demanded.

Harry blew out a heavy breath. Speaking normally again, he snapped, “For God’s sake, of course I love you, Louis. I came all the way back here for you. And it’s really important that you marry Miss Rexha as planned, and if I must—I suppose I must—I’ll tell you why, the real reason. But we have to go somewhere private. I can’t just tell you here on the road.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “If you think you’re going to seduce me into marrying Miss Rexha, that’s quite the wrong way to go about it.”

A laugh burst out of Harry. “That’s what you’re hoping for, is it?” he teased. For just a moment, he was merry, his green eyes sparkling with mirth, but he quickly sobered. “Your virtue is safe, my dear. I really do have something to tell you. But it is of utmost importance that it be kept secret.”

Louis suspected that this was some kind of ploy. There was nothing Harry could say to change his mind. 

Nonetheless, he was curious about what Harry had to say, what he thought was enough to change Louis’ mind. He pointed across a field and said, “There’s a cottage over there. Sometimes they’ve had shepherds or gardeners there, but there’s no one living there now.”

Harry nodded and followed him through the grass. The cottage was as lifeless as Louis expected. There was a rough-hewn table and chairs, some shelves with a few candles, and a bed with a bare mattress; nothing else.  Harry sat on the edge of the bed. Louis pulled the chair closer and sat on it. He honestly was a bit surprised that Harry hadn’t kissed him or at least beckoned him closer. “So you’re really not trying to seduce me?”

“I have to tell you all of this first,” Harry said. “You should know the truth.”

Louis tried not to roll his eyes. “How serious you are all of a sudden! All right, then.”

“This  _ is  _ serious.” Harry leaned forward and fixed him with a serious look, any trace of mirth gone from his face. “Look, Louis. What I’m all about to tell you, it’s going to sound crazy. I don’t know if you’ll believe me at all. I’m begging you to just listen, and keep an open mind. Hear me out. If you think I’m crazy after that, then so be it, but give me a chance first. Please.”

“Erm, all right?” Louis felt uncomfortable suddenly, for reasons he couldn’t quite name. Harry was speaking so strangely all of a sudden — not only the contents of what he was saying, but the very way he said it. The rhythms of his speech had changed; a hint of that strange accent crept in. 

Harry reached a hand into his jacket. “I’m going to show you something first. It might help.”

He pulled out a rectangular grey device a little larger than a pack of cards. One of the large faces was shiny, and there were small shiny squares on some of the sides. It was a strange but uninteresting object. 

“Now, if I put my thumb against this sensor and then press this button, it turns on,” Harry said, as confidently as if any of that made sense. He pressed a finger against one of the shiny squares and touched something that didn’t look at all like a button. Suddenly, the large face shone with a bright light.

Louis yelped and jumped out of his chair. “How did you do that?!”

“You’ve heard of electric lights, haven’t you? This uses electricity, too.”

“I’ve never seen one. I read an article in the paper about them, but it sounded so fanciful.” Louis stared at the device. “Is it hot?”

“No, this isn’t. It’s not using much power right now. You can touch it.” 

Louis nervously sat back in his chair and reached out to gingerly touch the thing with one fingertip. It was warm from being held close to Harry’s body, but no warmer than that. This close, he could see that there were words on it – visible on the glass thanks to the light coming from below them, he supposed. He read out loud, “‘Medical scanner vee five dot seventeen. User H Styles detected. Begin new scan. View saved scan.’ Why does it say that? What’s the point?”

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” Harry said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the thing. “It’s a portable medical scanner. It sort of looks at your body and it can tell you if something’s wrong, inside you.”

Louis just blinked at him. He was perfectly at a loss for words, because nothing that Harry said made any sense. A little box with an electric light was supposed to be able to look inside him and see if ‘something was wrong’? 

“Look, I’ll show you how it works. See, you touch this button here to start a new scan.” Harry tapped the words ‘begin new scan’ and in an instant, the face of the device  _ changed.  _ From one moment to the next, all the words disappeared and new ones took their place, along with a variety of strange symbols.

“Good god!” Louis exclaimed. “How did—that’s not—”

Harry angled the thing toward him. “Now there are a few other options, see? We can pick ‘remote body scan’ or ‘blood scan’. But the blood scan actually takes a sample of your blood, and it can only do that a limited number of times because that actually uses up some equipment and chemicals and stuff, so I’m not going to do that. That can tell you if you’re sick and what sort of infection you have. I’ll run the body scan on me so you can see how it works.” He pressed the words on the screen. New words appeared, saying  _ ‘Point scanner at body.’ _ At the same time, one of the shiny squares on another side of the device popped out, revealing a whole shiny rectangle that was still attached to the device. That rectangle began to pulse with a slow red light. 

Louis could only stare in utter bafflement as Harry calmly went on, “Now, if you know something is wrong in a specific place, you can just scan that, but you can also just scan the whole body to check. Here, I’ll do my arm.”  

He casually waved the thing over his arm, the red-blinking rectangle pointing toward him, then tapped something on the face of the device and turned it for Louis to see.

Now, instead of only text, there was something like a line drawing of an arm. There was the outline of the arm, and inside those lines there were bones along with swooping lines that he supposed were muscles. It was all in black and white except for a portion of one forearm bone that was drawn in a glowing green. The other bone also had a small green line across it. 

“What does that mean?” Louis asked, pointing to the green without touching it.

“The green means there’s a non-harmful abnormality. It’ll give you more information if you touch it there. Try it.”

“Will it do something to me?”

Harry chuckled. “No, I swear. Just try tapping on the green bit there.”

So Louis did. Immediately, the image got larger, somehow, as if he had leaned closer to Harry’s arm, and some text popped up. Next to the small green line, the text said  _ ‘fracture, healed.’  _ Next to the larger green segment stood the words  _ ‘titanium implant, probably structural, blood flow normal, no problems detected’.  _

“What’s ‘titanium’?” 

“It’s a kind of metal. It’s safe for medical use because it doesn’t break down and make you sick, and it’s very strong.”

“You’re telling me there’s a piece of some metal that I’ve never heard of in your arm?” Louis glared at him. “You  _ seriously  _ expect me to believe that?”

Harry nodded. “I was in a sporting accident when I was twenty. I broke my arm quite badly and there was a section of bone that was very badly damaged. It wasn’t healing on its own so in the end they replaced it with titanium. I can show you the scar.”

He rolled up his sleeve. There was indeed a long line of a scar, thin and well-healed. Louis pursed his lips. “All that proves is you hurt your arm at some point. It doesn’t prove the rest of what you said.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“Let me scan all of you,” Louis demanded. To his surprise, Harry nodded, tapped on the face of the device some more, and held it out to Louis. After some brief instruction, Louis set to waving the thing around in front of Harry, feeling very silly. When he was done, an outline of a body appeared with the green marks on the arm, a few other green marks on the torso, and one bit of orange. Louis tapped on them and raised his eyebrows. “This says you have two extra nipples. And also, your heart rate and blood pressure appear elevated, indicating that you are under stress.”

Harry laughed. “All true. Do you want to see?”

Louis felt himself blushing at the suggestion. “Erm. Maybe later.”

“Can I try it on you? You won’t feel it all—you saw how it was with me.”

Even as skeptical as he was, Louis had no defense against that beautiful voice entreating him, those wide green eyes pleading. He wondered if this thing really worked, too. He imagined that Harry could make this mysterious device say anything he wanted about himself, but he didn’t know Louis’ entire history.

“All right. I’ll let you try.”

Harry beamed. He tapped at the device and passed it slowly over Louis’ body, then set it down so they both could see. The image showed a bit of green on one toe, the one Louis had broken when he was a boy, but he didn’t tap on it. His attention was seized by the small blotch of red just below his right knee.

He reached out to touch the image there, and startled when Harry grabbed his hand. Harry was looking at him with wide eyes, his face suddenly pale. He was very quiet when he asked, “Is that something you’ve noticed, Louis? Does your leg ever hurt you?”

“Yes. Only from time to time, since a few months ago, I think. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone at all,” Louis murmured. “How can you know that? How can this  _ thing  _ know? I want to see what it says.”

“I really don’t know that you do,” Harry said in a rough voice.

“Harry,” Louis answered flatly. “You can’t show me this and then not let me know.”

Harry breathed in shakily. “Right. Of course. Okay.” He let go of Louis’ hand.

Louis tapped on the red and forgot how to breathe.

_ Tumour. Osteosarcoma. Slow-growing. Immediate treatment recommended. Treatment within six months required.  _

“I have cancer?” he asked. His voice cracked on the words. “I didn’t think it was anything. Just, just getting older. Not—it can’t be a  _ tumour.  _ I’m not even  _ old.” _

“I’m so sorry, Louis.” Harry offered his hand again and Louis gripped it hard. “It’s a few years still until you get properly sick. You have somewhere between five and seven years, most likely.”

“How can you know that? Your, your scanner thing doesn’t say that.”

“It’s because I’m from the future, Louis. That’s why I have this device that does things you’ve never even dreamt of, and why I have titanium in my arm, and why I know when you died. I’m from the future.”

A horrible feeling grabbed hold of his chest and squeezed. Louis squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t know why he felt like crying. “You  _ are  _ insane.”

Suddenly Harry’s hand was on his shoulder, pulling him closer. He was gentle, and Louis could easily have resisted if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to. He let himself tip forward until his head was against Harry’s chest and Harry’s strong arms wrapped around him. He felt Harry’s lips move against his hair as he said, “I knew you would say that.”

“I mean it.” Louis let himself have a few minutes to just have this. Being held in Harry’s arms was lovely, and for a little while, it was enough. It wasn’t long until he had to confront the reality that either Harry was mad and a liar, or he was slowly dying. 

And although he wanted to believe that Harry was merely a lunatic, there was no way to explain that strange device he had shown Louis. 

“There must be something that can be done,” Louis murmured. “If you know where the tumour is. Do you have something that can fix me?”

Louis moved with Harry’s chest as the other man sighed heavily. “No. I wish I did. We mainly have the scanner so we know if something’s bad enough that we need to go home to deal with it or not. And in this century?” Harry scoffed. “Not likely. The so-called doctors you have here are butchers. They don’t know anything. They cut someone open and they don’t even wash their  _ hands.” _

Louis didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “If you took me to your… home, though. They could fix me,” he guessed.

“Well, yes, but they’d never let you come back. You’d have to stay forever. But, listen, Louis, I had an idea—” Harry’s hands were on his shoulders again, this time pulling him to sit up again. 

Looking into Harry’s earnest face, Louis suddenly remembered how this whole conversation began. “Wait, then why did you want me to marry Miss Rexha?”

“See, that’s the thing.” Harry looked into his eyes intensely and started speaking faster than Louis had ever heard him talk before. “That’s what’s  _ supposed  _ to happen. That’s what all my historical documents say—you married Miss Rexha. We’re not supposed to change the past, and the fact that you decided not to marry her after you met me, that’s a significant change. And, look, I know that here and now, you’re not just a note in a timeline, you’re a real person with free will and you don’t have to do this just because—but it matters, it changes the future! Your kids matter, Louis. One of them was—is—will be an anti-slavery activist! Or, two of them, actually. And they really make some things better. They’re good people. Without your family line, a whole bunch of stuff is different. And. God, I know this is selfish, Louis, but in the future where you don’t marry,  _ my  _ family doesn’t exist. My mum, my sister, my grandmother, some of my best friends, all of these people don’t exist without you. Whether they’re in your family line, or your descendants introduced their ancestors or saved one of their lives—look how much changes without you, without your children.”

“You want  _ me  _ to marry someone I don’t love so that  _ you  _ can go home to  _ your  _ family.”

Harry made a frustrated noise. “I want you to have the life you were supposed to have before I came and messed it up. And, okay, yes, I want to go home to the future I’m from, where my family is. But Louis—”

“I can’t believe you—”

“Louis, listen to me!” Harry shouted over him. “I’ll stay with you! And when—when the time comes, I’ll bring you back with me. You don’t have to die, we’ll heal you and you can stay—”

Louis stood abruptly, knocking over the flimsy chair in the process. “Jesus, Harry, how is that better? You want me to have a family and then  _ leave them?” _

“I want to save you—” Harry cried, and there was real desperation in his eyes, but Louis couldn’t care about it; he couldn’t bear it. 

“I can’t talk to you anymore,” he said. His voice was horribly choked-up and quavering. “I just—I can’t.”

“Louis…”

Louis held up his hands. “I need to think. Away from you.”

With that, he left.

 

* * *

 

Harry found a cottage for rent at the edge of town. It was in somewhat poor condition, but it was serviceable and cheap. It was also rather out of the way, not convenient to anything. This was most likely the reason why it had sat vacant for so long. Fortunately, being out of the way suited Harry’s purposes.

He did some shopping around town, ostensibly to stock the place, but primarily to see people and to let it be known where he was living. Word would make its way to Louis in this small town. Eventually, Louis would come to him.

He hoped.

In the meantime, he read, and he thought about how to make a life here for the next seven years. He ought to keep to himself as much as possible, lest he change something else by interacting with people. On the other hand, he needed a livelihood. He probably did have enough money to live, albeit meagerly, but people would start to wonder if he did nothing. 

He couldn’t figure that out yet. It all depended on Louis.

After eight days, he sent Louis a note. It was brief, only giving his address and an entreaty to call on him when he was ready. Louis needed space and time to process all Harry had told him, he knew. It was just so bloody  _ hard.  _

It was a full two weeks before Louis finally appeared. He looked weary and seemed more chilled than the dampness of the day would justify. He pulled a chair close to Harry’s fire and said, “Charlotte has married. No one will scold you for calling her Mrs. Napper now.”

“I will send her my congratulations.” Harry watched Louis intently, but he only stared into the crackling fire. “Would you like some tea?”

“What happens to Bebe if I don’t marry her?” Louis asked.

“Ah—she marries Oliver, if you can believe it.”

“What!” Louis’ head jerked up from his contemplation of the fireplace. “That dog! I can’t believe it. Well, are they happy together?”

“I have no idea, honestly. I can tell you that they only have two children, but there are any number of reasons for that.”

“I can’t see how they would suit each other at all.” Louis frowned. “Wait, how many children do  _ I  _ have with her, then?”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know how much I should tell you.”

“Harry,” Louis said flatly. “Really? After all you’ve already told me?”

“All right, fine. Four.”

“Huh.” Louis actually looked a little pleased at that. “Four. Boys? Girls?”

“Three boys, one girl, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, my sisters will be disappointed. That’s not nearly enough girls to suit them.”

Harry forced a laugh. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“Plenty of heirs, though.” Louis lapsed into silence again. Harry got up and made them tea. Louis finally spoke again when Harry handed him a cup. “I can’t work out if it’s wrong to go through with marrying her or not. I don’t love her and I never will. But I’ll treat her well and provide for her. I’ll die and leave her. But I wasn’t meant to know that, and anyway, because I do, I can plan for it and make sure they’re all provided for after. I won’t do a thing like, oh, make risky investments assuming I have a decade to recoup the money. I suppose Bebe can remarry if she likes. My children—you said they do good things?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. I know two of them campaign against slavery and for the poor, and they do really help. And I know they all marry and have children of their own.”

“Well. That’s something. That certainly is something.” Louis sipped his tea. “Did you really say that you’d stay? Here, with me?”

“Yes, and I meant it. I’m asking you to sacrifice so much. The least I can do is stay with you—I mean, if you want me to, that is. And I know that after I go home, they’ll never let me come back here. But if I take you home, close to when you died anyway, then I don’t really disrupt anything here, and they’ll have to let you stay. They won’t like it, but they’ll have to.”

“What if…” Louis’ mouth moved soundlessly as if he were trying out his words. “What if I said I wouldn’t... kiss you, or lie with you, until I had done those things with Bebe?”

Harry nodded slowly. “I would understand and respect that, of course.”

Louis sat up straighter. “What if I said I wouldn’t lie with you at all in that time, whilst I was married to Bebe? Would you still stay?”

“Louis, of course!” Feeling rather defensive, he said, “This isn’t about sex. Not that I  _ don’t  _ want—but look, you don’t have to put out for me to love you and help you. That’s not why I’m here. And you’ll be married. It makes sense. Of course I will always respect what you want.”

Louis stared at him incredulously. “Of course that’s not what I want, dimwit.”

“Erm. Oh. No?”

“I don’t desire her in that way. I feel that way about  _ you. _ Of course I’ll—I’ll do my duty, but it would be considerably easier if I at least had the solace of your love. I think you would be rather cruel to deny me that, considering what you are asking of me.” Louis scrunched up his nose. It was rather adorable. “But I suppose it’s nice to know that this isn’t just about sex for you. My goodness. You really just say things outright like that. It’s so strange.”

Harry chuckled weakly. “We find it easier to just say what we mean. It prevents loads of misunderstandings. You’ll probably think people in the future quite rude.”

“You’ll tell me all about it? The future, I mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Louis smiled. “But I don’t want to think about that now.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, of course. I know this has all been a lot to take in, a lot to understand and decide, and I—”

“Harry. Stop talking,” Louis said firmly. He scooted from the chair to the bed to sit by Harry. “I don’t want to talk anymore right now.”

“Oh. I—oh.” Harry felt his cheeks heat again, blushing like a boy. 

Louis put one hand over Harry’s. “Don’t be shy on me now. You’re the one who knows what he’s doing here. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose.” Harry laughed softly. “Usually I think I know what I’m doing, but you make me feel like quite an amateur sometimes.”

Louis smiled a little, and he smiled wider when Harry raised a hand to cup his jaw, caressing that handsome face with his thumb. They both leaned in and met in a kiss. It was gentle and slow, and all the sweeter for it. There was none of the urgency and panic of that embrace in the barn; in its place there was tenderness and curiosity and love. Louis followed Harry’s lead but he learned quickly. It wasn’t long before he had put a daring hand high on Harry’s thigh. 

Harry broke the kiss then to grin at Louis. “I think I had better lock the door. If you’re staying, that is?”

There was no hesitation in Louis’ answer. “Yes, I should like that very much, if it’s no trouble.”

And so he did. And if he gave Harry any trouble, it was not the sort that either of them minded.


	5. Part 4

It was harder than Harry ever imagined. 

It had all been so easy in his imagination. Of course seven years in the eighteen-hundreds would be fine. He would accustom himself to all of it. He would have to limit his participation in the world, but that was all right; he would read and write and keep his mind and body engaged. He would be happy because he would be with Louis. 

With Louis  _ as a friend,  _ he had mentally added. He sort of imagined nobly, honourably pining, stealing glances across crowded rooms, that sort of thing. Still, a less-honourable part of his mind whispered that it might not be so terrible to let their relationship be more. Male infidelity in that culture had far fewer consequences than the female variety; married men sometimes went to whores and had mistresses and lovers, especially wealthy upper-class men. Of course, he reckoned that they probably felt free to do it because they didn’t respect their wives as equals and because their wives didn’t have the power to leave them. He shouldn’t want that to be a part of that. 

As it turned out, planning it was one thing and living it was quite another.

His plans not to sleep with Louis evaporated the moment Louis expressed a different opinion. Harry still felt bad about that, but—well. Not bad enough to say no when the man he loved threw himself at him.

And staying out of the world was  _ boring.  _ It was so very, very boring. Harry did appreciate quiet and solitude, but he also liked people. Keeping to himself so much made him feel all out of balance. He read and wrote a lot. He wrote his account of his trip to the wrong future, and all he could remember of it, to submit to the Time Corps. He wrote some fictional stories and sold them, published under a pen name, but he stopped after one got moderately popular and he worried he’d have some influence on the literature landscape. Then he just wrote about the Regency, all the details big and small that he noticed, in case it ended up useful to anyone back home.

Of course he wasn’t a complete hermit. That wouldn’t have been practical. He worked as a tutor for children in the town, which brought in an acceptable amount of money without him having too much influence on anyone in particular. The Andersons continued to ask him over for dinner, and of course his friendship with Louis brought him in touch with all of the Tomlinsons from time to time. Still, he always had to hold himself back. It was dangerous to be truly close to anyone. 

Sometimes he went off to London for a few days or a week just to be around people. There were even places where people of less common sexualities gathered. Harry had grown up in a world that accepted him, but in the past, he always had to hide parts of himself. It was nice to be amongst people with whom he could feel a little freer, even if only for a short time.

It was bearable, but it was hard. Loneliness was his only constant companion. As much as he loved Louis and was loved by him, the practicalities of life kept them apart more often than not. They called on each other often and were publicly very good friends, but it was never enough.

Louis did marry Bebe, and he took that very seriously. He meant to be the best husband he possibly could be. Harry respected it a great deal. He loved Louis’ commitment to doing what was right, to caring for his family, to making the best he could out of poor circumstances. It really was lovely.

It just was also completely shitty that he lay alone in a cold bed night after night while his beloved was in bed with his wife. 

Regardless of how careful and discreet they fancied themselves, though, Bebe was no fool. Harry discovered this late one night when he was roused from a deep sleep by a knock on the door of his cottage.

He had no idea how long the person had been hammering at his door by the time he finally woke up enough to react. He hastily threw on a robe and stumbled to the door. He was not at all presentable, but that turned out not to matter when he opened the door to none other than Louis.

“Lou?” he said dully, still at least half asleep. “What’s happening?”

Louis had bags under his eyes. His coat was rumpled and buttoned wrong, and his trousers didn’t match it. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, of course.”

He stepped aside, then shut and locked the door again once Louis was inside. He couldn’t figure out what to do after that. He blinked groggily until Louis took his hand, tugged him along, and said, “Come on. Let’s just go to bed.”

Louis took the robe from his shoulders and hung it up. Then he pulled off his coat, revealing a crumpled nightshirt stuffed underneath, and stepped out of his trousers and into Harry’s bed. 

“Oh,” Harry sighed happily. He wrapped his arms around Louis to pull him in, even threw a leg over Louis’ just to get that much closer. Louis was cold. Harry didn’t mind; he would warm him up. Louis pressed a kiss to his forehead and hugged him tightly.

To have Louis in his bed at night was the rarest of joys. He had been able to sleep over only a handful of times. The realisation that this was unusual prodded him out of his perfect bliss and woke his mind up just enough for him to ask, “Why’re you here?”

Louis sighed. “Bebe kicked me out of bed.”

“What? Why?” Harry mumbled. He was vaguely aware that this might be alarming, but he was more concerned with getting his hand under Louis’ nightshirt.

“Well, I—you know, I suggested that we should, shall I say, try for the next baby,” Louis said awkwardly. “And she kicked me out—I mean she literally put her foot on my side and pushed! And she told me to ‘go to Harry if you’re going to be like that.’ So, erm. Here I am.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Harry felt quite awake. “So she knows.”

“Yes, it seems that way.” Louis’ arms tightened around him. In a thin voice, he asked, “Have I ruined everything?”

“No, love, of course not. You probably shouldn’t have come,” he said reluctantly. “But… perhaps you should take more care with her. She practically  _ just  _ had the last baby—”

“Months ago,” Louis protested.

“—of course she’s liable to be touchy. She’s busy and exhausted. Yes, even with the nurse, dear. You’ll go back and grovel and apologise and it’ll be all right.”

“Do you think I should go back now?” Louis asked quietly, twisting his fingers in Harry’s nightshirt.

“No. I mean, yes, I do think that would be wiser, but please stay. I don’t want you to go. And you’ve only just gotten warm.” 

So Louis stayed that night. He had to borrow some of Harry’s clothes to look presentable on his trip home, and heaven only knew what would happen if anyone realised that. They were a similar enough size, though, and both of their clothing choices were close enough to the standard of the day for it to pass unremarked. Bebe didn’t say a thing about the event, though she did accept Louis’ gifts very graciously. For many months, it was as if it had never happened.

When she was large with their third child and miserable in a freakish heat wave, she wouldn’t let Louis in her bed at all. He snuck into Harry’s bed in the wee hours of the night, giggling, to tell of how he had made a big show of bedding down in his office, then stolen away after the servants were all abed. That was only brief, though, and made less sweet by the knowledge of Bebe’s discomfort. 

Those nights made him wonder if he had truly done wrong. He had thought it was the right thing to give Louis back the married life and family that he was meant to have. He had thought that whatever Louis suffered, he would make up for by saving Louis’ life. He had really only thought about himself and Louis, though.

For his part, Louis said he was glad that he got to experience real love in his life, and he said that Bebe really was happy most of the time. He was kind; he let her pursue her own interests; they had a very content, joyful family life together.  

Harry could only hope that Louis was right.  _ He  _ certainly couldn’t ask Bebe about it. He just had to live with the guilt that gnawed at him every day and hope that Bebe - and Louis, too - weren’t suffering from such painful feelings. 

Thus was the course of Harry’s life for many years. It wasn’t a life that he had ever imagined, but it was a bearable one. He missed his friends and family and the modern world. More than once, he thought about giving up and going home. But, no. He owed it to Louis to save him and bring him to a better world, after what he had been through, after what he would go through. He clung to that. 

The years past quietly, at least if you didn’t count the wailing of all the babies that came along as various Tomlinsons married. In 1817, Louis started to limp, but he would hardly ever admit that his leg actually pained him, so it was difficult to guess how his disease was progressing. He kept so quiet about it that it was easy for everyone else to forget most of the time, even when he started walking with a cane. 

Then, early in 1821, Louis started coughing.

They didn’t think much of it at first. It was winter; there was plenty of illness going around. Even Harry had grown used to it after so many years in the past. Of course he urged everyone to wash their hands more, as he always did, and he wouldn’t let Louis kiss him when one of them was ill, but aside from that, he paid it no mind. 

Then two weeks passed, and Louis mentioned how bothersome it was that he was still coughing even though he didn’t feel sick otherwise, and something clicked in Harry’s mind. He waited a few more weeks to say anything, hoping that the cough would stop. It didn’t. 

They were alone one evening in Harry’s cottage when he told Louis of his suspicions. It took him a few tries to get the words out. “I think the cancer’s spread to your lungs. I think that’s why you’re coughing.”

The medical scanner ran out of batteries years ago—it was never meant to last for more than a few weeks—so he couldn’t be sure. It was likely, though. The cancer was sure to metastasize at some point and the lungs were as likely a candidate as anywhere. Also, this was the year that Louis died.

Louis pressed a hand to his chest and grimaced. “If that’s true, then this isn’t going to stop.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But it also means…” Harry swallowed hard. He dreaded how Louis would react to this, but he had to say it. “Let me take you back now. Bebe is expecting. A few months won’t make a difference to them, but to your health…”

Louis pulled back. “You said I wouldn’t die until the last baby was a few months old.”

“We don’t know that that still holds true. What if something about me being here nudges your health the wrong way? If your cancer is spreading, then you don’t have much time, without medical treatment. What if we wait too long and they can’t save you? I’m scared for you, Lou.”

But Louis refused. He wanted to meet his child, no matter how sick he got.

By the time the baby was born, Louis could barely walk a hundred feet before losing his breath. He tottered around with his cane, frail and drawn, too poorly to even pick up the children. He spent almost all of his time in a chair or in his bed. Harry was terrified. 

Louis cradled his newborn son with love and joy shining in his eyes, and it broke Harry’s heart to hear him whisper  _ I’m so glad I got to meet you. _ Then his heart broke a little more when Louis was seized by a coughing fit and had to hastily pass the infant off to the nurse. 

A few weeks later, Louis came down with a fever. A servant came to Harry from the Tomlinson home to tell him, as if it were urgent, as if it were something he needed to know. When he arrived, the youngest Tomlinson girls were there, sewing and playing with the children and taking turns sitting with Louis. 

Harry was afraid that this was it, the final illness, the end. 

“Let me take you away,” Harry begged when they finally got a moment alone, and this time, Louis agreed. He nodded, sweating and wan and far too small in the expanse of his bed, and he said yes. 


	6. Part 5

Harry had had years to plan for this moment. He just hoped he could pull it off.

When he returned to the Tomlinson home, there was nothing about his appearance to suggest an intention to travel. The long, light coat he wore against the cool afternoon breeze had enough room to conceal what he needed, and no more than that.

Up in Louis’ sick room, he laid out the plan. Louis didn’t say anything for a long time, but finally he agreed. Harry produced a couple of pills that were hidden in his coat. “This one is an antibiotic that should help with your fever—this one is just to bring the fever down—and this one’s a stimulant. You’ll be very tired when it wears off, but it will help you look like you’re feeling better this evening.”

Louis swallowed the pills down and Harry helped him dress for dinner. There were cries of excitement when he appeared at the table. “Are you feeling better, then, my dear?” Bebe asked hopefully.

“Yes, I’ve gotten a bit of new energy somehow,” Louis said wryly. He kissed her on the cheek and took his place beside her.

“I’m afraid I told the servants not to do anything fancy, since it was only me and the children and our sisters,” Bebe said apologetically. “It’s a rather informal table.”

Louis waved this off. “Quite all right. This suits me perfectly. I don’t need formality. I just want to be with my family.”

By the end of dinner, both Louis and Harry had a sleepy child in their laps. Harry held the little girl carefully and, with great effort, did not cry. This was the last he would ever see of them. Even worse, it was Louis’ last night with his own children. They would grow up without him; the little ones wouldn’t remember him at all. They would never know all that Louis had sacrificed for them. Would they ever understand what a wonderful man their father was?

But he had to keep himself together, keep the conversation light and amiable. Louis grew quiet, his face melancholy, but that was understandable, given his illness. Harry had no such excuse and so must appear perfectly normal and cheerful.

In time, the children went to bed and Phoebe and Daisy left for home, chirping about how happy Mother and Father would be to hear of Louis’ improvement. That left only Louis, Harry, and Bebe, the latter of whom was giving Harry rather strange looks and hinting that it was time for them all to be off to bed, as if this weren’t hours before her customary bedtime.

Harry mustered up his courage and said, “Actually, Mrs. Tomlinson, I need to speak with you and Louis. Perhaps we could go up to his office?”

Bebe raised her eyebrows at that, but she agreed politely. Up in the office, Harry quickly got down to business. “You know that Louis is ill—that he’s been getting worse for years.”

“Well, for some time, at least,” Bebe agreed cautiously.

“He’s dying,” Harry said bluntly.

Bebe gasped sharply and cut in before he could say more. “You don’t know that!”

Louis sighed. He sounded so very tired. “He knows it, and I know it, and you know it too, if you’ll let yourself see it. It’s only ever gotten worse. Every year, every month, I’m less well.”

Bebe’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “But you can’t, Louis. Who will take care of me? Who will take care of the children?”

Louis caught her hands in his. “Bebe, darling, don’t worry. Everything’s all in order. I realised some time ago that I would not grow old with you. I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be all right.” An anguished look crossed his face and he gripped his wife’s hands harder. “I’m _so_ sorry that I won’t be here to see the children grow. I hate that more than anything. But you’ll have money, you’ll all be well, and you’ll raise them up right for me, won’t you?”

“Oh, _Lou.”_ Bebe’s voice was thick with emotion, and for a time, she couldn’t speak at all. “Of course I will. Of course. But Lou, we can get another doctor, we can take you to Bath—”

“None of that will help,” Harry interrupted. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tomlinson, but no one here can help him. I can take him away to a place where they can make him better, but there’s a price. He can never come back.”

She looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. I didn’t even want us to tell you that, but Louis thought you deserved to know—so that you wouldn’t have to mourn him. I don’t know what difference it makes, he’s lost to you one way or another—”

“Of course it makes a difference,” Louis sighed. “Do we have to have this argument again?”

Bebe looked between them with an expression of sheer bafflement. “You’re not making any sense. Who can heal him? Why wouldn’t he be able to come back?”

“This is just how it works.  I really am very, very sorry, but this is the only way for him to live, and I hate that we have to leave you like this but we _do.”_ Harry tried not to show his frustration. There was no getting around it: this part just _sucked._ Leaving all the people they loved here—the _children—_ having to lie to everyone or leave them in the dark—it was all awful. It was unbearable if they dwelled on it, so Harry barrelled on. “So, listen. Here’s what you’re going to tell everyone tomorrow. Louis was feeling better and he decided to take a stroll along the sea. You didn’t go because you were tired and you wanted to be with the baby, so I went with him. You’ll go to bed, and in the morning you’ll go check on Louis and realise he never came home, and there will be a search, and then you’ll find the spot along the cliffs where he must have stumbled and fallen down the cliff. Of course it’s believable—he’s been so poorly and his knee is so bad. How foolish of him to go so close to the edge!”

Bebe shook her head slowly. “This is madness.”

“We had better go.” Harry stood and offered Louis an arm to help him up.

Louis didn’t take the arm right away. He leaned forward and gently kissed Bebe on her cheek.  “All the papers, everything you’ll need, they’re in the upper-right drawer of my desk. My solicitor has copies as well. Be strong, my dear, and be well.” Then he allowed Harry to pull him up and leaned heavily against him.

Bebe’s lips trembled and her hands twisted together on her skirt. “So this is it. You’re taking him away from me.”

“I just want him to live. This is the only way,” Harry said. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tomlinson. I’ve done everything I can. I wish you all the best. Farewell.”

 

* * *

 

It really was an awful evening for a walk. It wasn’t dark out yet, but sunset would come soon, and the wind had picked up. The servants were horrified that Mr. Tomlinson would even consider going out. Louis forced a jovial smile, though, and cried, “Come, I’m finally out of bed. I need some fresh air! Mr. Styles shall take care of me and we won’t go far. No, we don’t need lanterns, we won’t be gone for that long.”

The servants fretted and tried to convince him to wait until morning, but eventually they were forced to give in to the master of the house. Louis had his cane but he limped along energetically as they set out, at least until they were out of sight. Then he took the elbow Harry offered and moved at a much slower pace.

Harry didn’t actually make him go all the way to the sea cliffs. He left Louis sitting in the grass and hurried down the footpath alone. Along the cliff, he found a soft spot where he could kick away at the edge, making it look like someone had fallen. He hit the slope a bit with Louis’ cane to make it look disturbed, then carefully lowered the cane so that it caught on a plant. He threw his own coat far down in the hopes that it would look as if he had gone after Louis, then tossed his hat out, aiming for the water. Maybe it would wash up somewhere; maybe it wouldn’t.

Cold now without his outer garments, Harry hurried back to Louis, whom he found dozing. Harry crouched down and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, love.”

“No, thanks,” Louis mumbled.

“Come on, now,” Harry said. He drew Louis’ arm around his shoulders and pulled him up to stand. “We’ve only got about a mile to go. You can make it.”

Louis slumped against him. “I think whatever you gave me wore off. I’m so tired. Can’t we rest here for a bit?”

“No. The servants will be looking for you soon. We have to go now.”

“Noooo,” Louis moaned. He took a slow step forward, clutching at Harry’s shirt, and groaned. “Did you really have to take my cane?”

“I promise it’s not far. Please, Louis.”

It felt like the slowest mile of Harry’s life. Louis was exhausted and in pain and not exactly enthusiastic about any of it, but finally they made it to the road and to the carriage that awaited them. Harry had paid him a scandalous amount of money to drive from several towns over, meet them on the road in the night, and not say a word about it.

They lifted Louis into the carriage, where he immediately flopped over onto one of the cushioned benches and lay still. The driver looked on in consternation. “Good Lord. We ought to be taking him to a doctor, not to—”

“I’m getting him to a doctor, a better one than any around here,” Harry snapped. “Just drive, will you? I’ll tend to him.”

“I’m not having anyone dying in my coach,” the driver muttered as he turned away.

“I’m not bloody planning on it,” Harry said grimly.

Louis had already fallen into a fitful sleep by the time Harry had shut the door. Louis’ forehead was warm under his hand—the medication had lowered his fever but not eliminated it. Perhaps the rest now would help.

After a few hours, the driver brought them to an inn. “My horses are too tired to go on,” he said gruffly. “I know the owner here. I can get rooms for us.”

It was a shabby place and the price far exceeded what such rooms ought to command, but there was no choice. Harry paid for a room for himself and Louis, and another for the driver. He had to carry Louis up the stairs to his narrow bed.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Louis was curled up on his side, unmoving and drenched with fever-sweat. “Lou, love, wake up,” Harry said, patting his cheek. But Louis didn’t stir, not even when Harry shook him. Increasingly frantic, Harry stripped off the blankets, but Louis only whimpered and pulled his limbs in closer. “Fucking—Louis, wake _up,”_ he begged. “What am I going to do if you don’t wake up?”

Louis coughed. And coughed, and coughed some more until they were great wracking things that _finally_ woke him.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry gasped. He helped Louis sit and held him through a coughing fit that grew almost as alarming as Louis’ unresponsive sleep.

Louis was red-faced and breathless by the time he managed to stop coughing and drink the water that Harry offered him. He leaned back against Harry, struggling for breath. “I’m so dizzy. Ah, God, everything hurts.”

Harry stroked damp hair back from Louis’ forehead. “I’ll get you some medicine in a minute. You’ll feel better.”

Louis sighed and closed his eyes. “Can’t you just leave me here? I don’t want to go anywhere. There’s no purpose. I should be home with my family, not chasing fairy tales.”

Harry kissed his forehead and moved Louis around so he was leaning against the wall. He pulled a few pills from his dwindling store of medicines—anti-fever, painkiller, stimulant—and bothered Louis into taking them, then got them both dressed. “Now I’ve got to go check on the driver, and I’ll try to get us some breakfast. Then we’ll go. Please stay awake.”

Louis snorted and waved him away. He was sitting but he was still on his bed; it didn’t give Harry much hope that he would actually do as Harry had asked.

He found the carriage driver at breakfast. He was grumpy and said that he could only take them a few more miles because his horses were still tired.

 _Why did I pay for your room, then?_ was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but he bit it back. The farther they got from Combe Martin, the better. He knew they would need to switch coaches at some point but he wanted to get as far as he could to lessen the chances of being recognised. If he antagonised the driver, he might have to find a new driver right here, wherever the hell they were.

He hastily ate some bread and asked for a cup of gruel to bring up to Louis. To his surprise, though Louis was laying down on the bed, he was awake. He sighed and turned his head to look at Harry. “I detest these stimulants. All I want to do is sleep, and yet, here I am.”

“Yes, that’s sort of the point. Here, sit up. I’ve brought you something to eat and then we have to go.”

Louis sat with a groan and looked at the gruel with utmost disgust. “Ugh. I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you have to eat something. I know you don’t want to but please try.” Louis hadn’t been eating well for months. On top of that, the stimulants were appetite-suppressing. “You need to keep your strength up.”

Louis barely ate a third of the food, and even that took a lot of coaxing. He was flushed with fever and a little shaky as Harry helped him down the stairs and into the carriage.

The driver dropped them off a few hours later as promised, leaving Harry to secure a new coach for them, as well as a new cane for Louis. Then they had another few hours bouncing along the rough dirt roads. This time, Louis was restless. He would lie down, sit up, lay his bed leg across the bench, mutter about his knee hurting, or his back, or that he was thirsty, or whatever. Then he’d have a horrible coughing fit and end up slumped against the cushions, gasping for air, and then he’d start it all over again.

At the drive for a particular farm, Harry asked the driver to stop. The man frowned at him. “Here? There’s nothing around here.”

Harry waved at the drive and answered, “This is my aunt’s farm, but she’s old and sensitive. She doesn’t like the sound of carriage wheels. She says they irritate her delicate nerves. So, you see, we need to walk from here.”

The driver looked sceptical. “Your friend isn’t well. Surely your aunt would understand that I ought to bring him to the door.”

“No, no.” Harry shook his head and stepped out of the coach. “He’s not so poorly as all that. He just has a flair for the dramatic. Thank you kindly for your concern, sir, but we shall be just fine.”

Louis glared at him as he staggered out of the carriage. Harry pretended not to hear his sour mutterings and pressed some money into the driver’s hand with a smile. He turned to Louis and cheerfully said, “Well, off we go, then!”

They walked up the drive until the carriage had turned around and gone out of earshot. Harry went on a little farther to a tree he had made note of, then turned abruptly off the path.

“You expect me to walk on this?” Louis groused as he stepped on the uneven ground. “Give me your arm.”

“It’s not far,” Harry said as Louis took a tight grip on his forearm.

“Not far. Right. How far does that actually mean?”

“It’s about two miles.”

Louis groaned. “Harry, I can’t.”

“Of course you can, love,” Harry said soothingly.

“You have no idea,” Louis snapped. “My knee bloody _hurts_ and it feels a bit like it might just break if I step on it wrong, and I’m _so_ tired.” He stopped and panted for a moment. “And I can’t breathe. Don’t tell me this is _easy.”_

“I didn’t say it was easy. I said you could do it. Lou, please, I know this is so hard, but we’re—”

“And why are we even doing this!” Louis wailed. “Why am I leaving my children?”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Harry fretted, looking around them quickly and thankfully seeing no one. “You know why! So that you don’t die!”

Louis sobbed suddenly and stopped. He was breathing fast and his voice was breathy and thin. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave them.”

Harry slipped an arm around Louis’ waist. The trees here were thin and poor cover, but there wasn’t anyone around. He brought Louis into an embrace, murmuring, “I know, love, I know.”

“My babies, Harry. My sisters. I don’t want to miss them growing up.”

Harry squeezed his eyes tight to hold in his own tears. He stroked Louis’ back and whispered, “I know. I wish we could have it all. Both our times, both our families.”

“I should have made someone cut off my leg when you told me about that bloody tumour.”

They’d talked about it, back then. Then they’d fought about it, Harry yelling that he’d die of wound fever if he didn’t just bleed to death and then there would be no Louis and no future for Harry. Louis had screamed back that he’d take the chance if it meant not leaving his children without a father. Harry had said he forbade it, like he had any authority to do so. Louis had laughed bitterly in his face and walked away.

As it happened, no surgeon had been willing to cut off a healthy man’s leg because of a little knee pain anyway. One of them had declared Louis a lunatic and nearly had him locked up in an asylum. Only that had made him give up.

Harry just held him and murmured soothing nonsense at him. It wasn’t an argument to rehash, not now.

“I’m so scared,” Louis whispered. “I want to live, I want to be well again. I’m just so scared.”

“I know.”

Louis sniffled and sagged against him heavily. Harry hugged him a bit longer, but he was growing anxious about being seen. Gently, he said, “Lou, we really need to be going.”

Louis didn’t answer, though. He only grew heavier in Harry’s arms. “Seriously, Lou, don’t mess around,” Harry grumbled. But Louis said nothing; he didn’t even giggle the way he always did at his own mischief. He was growing harder to hold up, so Harry lowered them both down to the ground, where he realised with horror that Louis was completely unconscious.

“Lou!” he yelled. He slapped Louis’ cheeks and shook him, but Louis didn’t respond. “Oh, come the fuck _on._ You can’t just pass out in a field!”

Had the stimulants worn off? But that shouldn’t have caused Louis to drop like a sack of potatoes. They tapered off more gently than that. Harry briefly wondered if he should bring Louis back to the farmhouse that really was up that drive to rest and recuperate. But—no. If this was part of the course of his illness, then what he needed was real medical care, not a nineteenth century bed, and there was only one way to get him that.

Well. Time to see if he could remember how to do a fireman’s carry, he supposed.

He couldn’t recall all the steps in the process, but he turned out to be able to manage anyway. It helped that Louis was a little shorter than him and a great deal thinner. Louis’ weight loss in the past months had been deeply alarming but at least it made him easy to carry.

He didn’t know how long it took him to get to the drop point, but it was certainly well over an hour. Carrying an entire other person was damn hard work. He had to take many rest breaks. The entire time, Louis was unresponsive. His breathing was laboured, harsh and irritating to Harry’s ears until he realised that at least it meant he knew that Louis was breathing. If that sound stopped—

Harry couldn’t think about that. The only thing he could do was to go on.

At the drop point, he carefully lay Louis down in the grass, then set to work. He extracted his cache from the rock, armed a retrieval dongle with shaking hands, and replaced it. Then he gathered up his things and scooped Louis into his arm to wait. Louis was limp and still except for his shallow breathing; his forehead was hot with fever and his hands were horribly cold.

It was only when Harry saw a droplet of water fall onto Louis’ hair that he realised that he was crying. He didn’t bother to wipe his face, only pulled Louis closer and prayed that they weren’t too late.

After what felt like years of waiting, he finally felt the tell-tale tingle that meant the TReD was working. His stomach lurched with terror and excitement as the world faded to that formless humming nothing. Then, without so much as a jolt, he was on grass again, now neatly manicured instead of wild. It was a sunny day, and Nick was there.

“Oh my god, Nick,” Harry gasped. “Oh, thank god. Please tell me you know who I am.”

“Fucking—I thought I knew who you were, but the Harry Styles I know wasn’t stupid enough to bring someone back with him! Who the fuck is _this?”_

“This is Louis. We’re in love and he’s dying. He needs immediate medical treatment. Please, help him.”

Nick only stared in shock. Then his eyes got even wider. “Are you _older?!_ Oh, what in the actual fuck. Please tell me I’m seeing things.”

“I spent six months in an alternate future timeline and seven years in the Regency,” Harry said. “Where’s the medic?” His head was spinning. He was home this time, he thought, he hoped, but all he really cared about was getting to Louis to a hospital.

“You’re going to be in so much trouble,” Nick said faintly. Harry really didn’t care because _finally,_ there was the medic, rushing over in a hazmat suit, and maybe it was going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

“Can’t we do this later?” Harry pleaded. “I need to go see how he’s doing.”

Director Tran glared at him from the other side of the bio-impermeable membrane. “You broke more protocols on a mission than anyone ever has, Harry. What you _need_ to do is finish this debrief.”

Harry fidgeted in his seat. “But my report—”

“Is very long and thorough, yes, thank you, but it isn’t a substitute for an interview, Harry. Now answer the question,” Tran said severely.

Harry really did try. It was just that his mind kept drifting to Louis (Was he awake? Was he _still alive?_ What were they doing with him? Was he going to be okay?) and he’d lose whatever train of thought he was on or forget the question entirely. It happened again and again until Tran tossed their tablet onto their table with a heavy sigh and stood up. “Okay, fine. You win. This is bloody pointless.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. He really meant it. “I’m just so worried about him.”

Tran waved their hand curtly. “I guess we’ll do this when things are more stable. _Do not_ think you’re off the hook here. You’re absolutely not. Your ass is basically grass. But for now, get out of here.”

“Thank you!” Harry squeaked as he bolted out of the interview room.

Because Louis was sick, they were in full quarantine and would be for a few weeks. On the bright side, since they’d been exposed to the same pathogens, they got to be in quarantine together. The medical room was just down the hall. After an examination in the transport van and decontamination at the hospital, Harry had been taken straight to debrief without a stop in medical. Since Louis had gone in the first med transport and Harry had had to wait for a second, they’d been apart for nearly two hours.

Harry skidded towards the medical room with his stupid gown flapping, hit the doorway with his shoulder, and stopped abruptly. He suspect he might have actually yelled “Louis!” but it didn’t matter because Louis’ eyes were closed and he didn’t move at all.

There was a monitor beeping softly, rhythmically—Louis’ heart. Still alive. Louis looked tiny in the white expanse of the hospital bed. He had tubes going into his arms, little monitoring devices on his fingers, and a clear mask pressed down tight over his mouth and nose. It was a frightening sight. Somehow it all made Louis appear so much sicker than he had before, even though all of it was only there to make him better.

“Harry, hello,” a voice called. Harry blinked and wrested his attention from Louis to finally notice James, a med tech he had worked with before. James waved at a second, empty hospital bed and said, “Take a seat. We can finally do a more thorough examination of you. The doctor is coming but we can just get started.”

Harry didn’t move. “How is Louis? What’s happening?”

“Dr. Angle will talk to you about that. If you could just step this way for now—”

Harry found himself crossing the room to Louis’ bedside. He wrapped a hand around Louis’, careful not to disturb anything medical. His hand was cool still, but no longer was it terrifyingly cold. Louis didn’t react at all.

“Is he going to be all right?” Harry asked.

James sighed and wheeled over a stool. “Fine, suit yourself, sit there. I’m going to take your vitals while we wait for Dr. Angle.”

Harry didn’t look away from Louis’ face. It was still and blank. He hadn’t realised how long it had been since he’d seen Louis’ face completely relaxed. He had gotten used to the traces of tension, the tiny signs of pain. “Okay.”

James pressed little sensors against various parts of him, murmuring words that Harry didn’t really hear, until the doctor appeared. Like James, she wore the thin, baggy hazmat with a transparent membrane draped over her face. “Harry, welcome back,” she said, gesturing across her body in a polite greeting. “I’m Dr. Angle. Your tests all look good so far. Of course we’re still running the cultures to see if you have any asymptomatic infections. How are you feeling?”

“Good, I’m fine. How is Louis? Is he going to be—what’s going to happen?” Harry said in a rush.

Dr. Angle pulled a stool over to sit near him. “We were able to wake Louis to obtain his consent for treatment, and to confirm that he would allow us to share medical information with you,” she said. Her voice was stern. Harry gathered that she thought he was being invasive. “Then he became rather agitated that you weren’t there, so we sedated him. Briefly, right now our primary focus is on fighting his pneumonia. We sampled the tumours in his chest and leg. Those are in the lab now. I assure you we’ve put him at the front of the queue—they should be able to start synthesizing the drugs for his cancer in a day or two.”

“But they’ll work? It’s curable?” Harry asked eagerly.

Dr. Angle held up a hand. “We can’t promise you anything. No one in this hospital has ever seen a case this advanced. We’re consulting with specialists from America and Bolivia, though. They have some religious communities that forbid medical treatment so they do see some cases like this, and they’ve even treated some—as you might imagine, people who are dying horribly and slowly reconsider their previous convictions sometimes. Anyway, they’ve successfully treated some very advanced cancers, so we’re cautiously optimistic.”

Harry’s hand clutched tighter around Louis’. His voice shook as he sighed out, “Oh, thank you.”

“We’ll have our work cut out for us to keep him stable and fighting, but the first word from the lab is that this is in the class of cancers that we understand quite well. The oncologists are still finalising the treatment plan, but we probably will have to do surgery.” She frowned. “I’m sure you know that we almost never need to operate on cancers, but some of the tumours are just so large. I hate to do something so drastic, but, well, this is quite a drastic case. We don’t want the drugs concentrating in these large tumours when we really need them eliminating all the little metastases.”

“Sure, of course.” Harry knew he didn’t entirely understand, but that was all right. The important thing was that the doctors did. “He’ll understand. He tried to get someone to cut his leg off a while back.”

Dr. Angle blinked at him. “Okay, _that’s_ drastic.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it was 1815.”

“Well, we’re not going to cut off his leg. I’m—well, I’m pretty sure of that. No promises. Now will you please let James do a physical examination on you and actually give him your health history from when you were gone?”

“What if Louis wakes up?”

“You don’t have to leave the room. Anyway, we’re keeping him sedated for another day or two.  The breathing treatment is the most effective thing for healing his lungs, but conscious patients sometimes find it distressing and usually have a hard time maintaining compliance. Considering he’s fresh out of eighteen-hundred-whatever, I think there’s a good chance he’ll find it distressing,” she said drily.

“Oh. I see.” Harry pressed his lips together to hold back an immature complaint like _fuck! This sucks! I need to talk to Louis!_ He absolutely hated that he wouldn’t get to talk to Louis for days. Louis needed the best treatment he could get, though, and that was far more important than Harry’s desire to talk to him.

He let James lead him over to the other bed and, this time, really did try to do as the technician asked.

 

* * *

 

Harry had experienced various degrees of quarantine after his missions. As a rule, it was boring. He came back excited to see his friends and family and to talk about his mission, eager to go back to his favourite restaurants and parks, aching to sleep in his own bed again. Instead of all that, he basically had to hang out in a hospital. They had made an effort to make it comfortable, but still, it was small, it always smelled of harsh cleaning products, and it simply didn’t feel homey, no matter what comforts they added. He could have visitors, but it almost made him feel more like a prisoner, sitting in the little visitation room with a biohazard barrier between them. Mostly he just called people, read the news, watched a lot of movies, and worked out. If there was another agent with him in quarantine, they played a lot of games, but usually it was just him and the occasional hazmat-suited technician.

This time around was quite different. Being stuck in quarantine was not just tedious; it was excruciating. He hadn’t seen his friends and family in _seven years._ And he wasn’t even allowed to talk to them, not until his bosses decided who got to know what.

(At one point, he heard his mother yelling at someone. She must have been just outside the quarantine area. He seriously considered making a break for it. They let him video-call her after that, but it was brief.)

On the other hand, it wasn’t nearly as lonely as the typical quarantine. Even while Louis was sedated, he had a lot of medical needs, so there were doctors, nurses, and techs coming in and out all the time. Harry himself had only twice been ill during quarantine, and those had been mild, so this was all new to him. Some of them were just distantly polite but a few of them sat and talked with him, eager to hear about his time in the past, and Harry wasn’t supposed to tell them anything but he did anyway because it was just so good to be _home,_ to have people from his own century who understood him and the way he saw the world.

And then Louis woke up.

Well, it wasn’t as abrupt as that. Dr. Angle informed Harry that they were tapering off the sedatives, and that Louis would wake up in a few hours. James monitored the feeds and helpfully noted aloud changes—increased respiration rate, for example—that indicated that Louis was moving toward wakefulness. When a monitor detected REM sleep, Dr. Angle came back, removed the mask from Louis’ face, and pulled up diagnostics from it on her tablet. “This is good,” she murmured. “Okay, pull his feeding tube, and call me when he’s awake and coherent.” She walked off, still staring at the tablet.

Harry winced as he watched James pull a long, narrow tube out of Louis’ nose. “Can he eat anything he wants once he’s awake?”

“Well, sure, as long as it fits in his nutrition plan. The cancer drugs will likely have some effect on his appetite, but he’s cleared for cannabis, which would help with that..” James cocked his head to the side. “Will he take that? I know there were some time periods that had major stigmas against it.”

“I can honestly say we never discussed it.”

James shrugged. “Well, it’s up to him. Something to help the appetite would be a good idea, though. He’s going to have a much longer treatment than most cancer patients. He might be taking the medication for months!”

Louis made a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Harry was at his bedside in a flash. “Louis?” There was no response, though.

“False alarm,” James remarked.

Still, Harry pulled his seat close to wait. Surely it wouldn’t be long now, and he wanted to be the first thing Louis saw.

 

* * *

 

Louis was in a bed.

That was the first thing he noticed. His eyes were still closed, but there was soft cloth draped over him, and something warm and yielding underneath him. He last recalled being in a field, so this was a surprise.

Even more surprising: he was mainly comfortable. Nothing hurt. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming, but, no, these days the pain even invaded his dreams, giving him nightmares of being crushed by something, or falling to horrible injury, or wild beasts gnawing on his leg. His dreams were never this peaceful and rarely so mundane.

He shifted a little, and now he felt some odd sensations. Something tugged at the skin of his arm, and was there something on his finger? His other hand felt—oh, like someone was holding it, maybe. Finally, reluctantly, he opened his eyes and promptly forgot to care about whatever was happening with his hands, because there was Harry.

“Louis, Lou, hey,” he exclaimed softly. His hair wasn’t stylishly slicked back but instead was a mess of curls. He was wearing some simple white garment, a bit like a nightgown, though completely unornamented. He was sitting by Louis’ bed and holding his hand.

“Hi,” Louis breathed. His eyes darted around to take in the room. Most of the room was so plain and pale. It was like the idea of a room, like the structure of furniture without any of the substance. The walls were flat expanses of a pale green; the tables and chairs were white and smooth like ivory sculptures.

But then there were some things that were very, very strange. There was a large rectangle on the wall that, like Harry’s tablet, had an ever-changing image, and another smaller rectangle—no, the term was a _screen,_ he knew this—a smaller screen with a lot of words and numbers on it. There was some device wrapped around one of his fingers, and there was also a thin clear tube coming out of his arm. He startled when he saw that. Harry’s hand tightened on his and he felt panic rising in him.

“Harry, something is stuck in my arm,” he said urgently.

“It’s okay, love.” Harry reached for his other arm and stroked his hand. “It’s just for medicine and fluids while you were—asleep.”

“Take it out, then, I’m awake now.” His voice was high and tight, embarrassingly, but it was taking all his self-control not to scream and try to rip the thing out.

“Lou, hey, hey. Look at me. Take a deep breath, focus on that. Does your arm actually hurt? Can you feel the IV?”

He focused on Harry’s green eyes, so close to his own, and managed to concentrate on his breathing. He was startled to realise how good it felt. “Hey, I don’t need to cough at all. My chest doesn’t hurt.”

Harry smiled and said in a very level voice, “That’s good. You’ve been treated for pneumonia, so that should be making you feel much better.”

Louis flexed his arm. The tube didn’t really hurt, he was surprised to note, but it felt strange and wrong. “Why would you put medicine in my _arm?”_

“It’s… I think it’s more effective. It works faster because it goes straight into your blood. I can get the doctor to come explain it to you. She’ll want to talk to you now that you’re awake anyway.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “She?”

The look on Harry’s face was one Louis had seen a lot, when Harry was telling him something preposterous about the future and had the nerve to be exasperated when Louis didn’t immediately believe him. “Yes, she. Dr. Angle. I’ve told you about this, Louis, anyone who has the skill can do a job here, regardless of their gender or anything. She’s as good a doctor as anyone.”

“I know you told me. It’s just very strange to me. Yes, all right, I’ll talk to her. Ask her to take this damned tube out of me, would you?”

Dr. Angle was a tall woman who looked very young but had the authoritative bearing of someone much older. Her skin was too dark for her to be entirely Caucasian, but this was another thing that Harry had explained to him, that in the future, people had moved around so much that every nation had become a mix of races. It had sounded strange and exciting. The most exotic thing about Dr. Angle, though, were the words coming out of her mouth.

Her accent was so different that it took a while for him to be able to understand her at all. It didn’t help that she was using loads of unfamiliar words. It was a slow, halting conversation, as he had to keep asking her for clarification or getting Harry to translate something. Eventually he got the gist, though.

They told him that they would take the tube out of his arm in a few hours, only after he’d been given his first round of medicine for the cancer. Another doctor came in then, a tall white man. At his side, at about the height of his head, a screen was simply floating in the air, showing the face of a black woman. He startled rather violently when her face smiled and said, “Hello, Louis! Nice to see you awake.”

The man Harry had introduced as James said something angry about his heart rate and not scaring him, and Harry patted his hand and said, “Remember how I told you that we could talk to people anywhere in the world with our computers?” Louis couldn’t decide whether he was thrilled or terrified. Maybe both. They told him that the face on the screen was a cancer doctor in _America,_ and then they started talking about cancer treatment like he didn’t even need a moment to begin to comprehend that.

They were all very apologetic about wanting to do surgery to remove tumours. He thought that was a bit silly. How else were they supposed to get them out? But apparently they had a kind of medicine that could destroy small tumours, and so it was unusual to suffer from ones as large as he had. They told him that he he would still have to take that medicine because they couldn’t find every little tumour with surgery. They were very insistent that he had to stay in hospital for a few weeks and take the medicine through his arm tube (called an “ivy,” for reasons no one explained to him – maybe because it reminded someone of a vine?). He found this quite annoying. He felt so much better and he wanted to get out and see things. The doctors pointed out that he felt better because he was on quite a lot of drugs and he was actually alarmingly close to death. It was hard to believe that when he felt so good, though.

Dr. Angle frowned at him with her hands on her hips. “Well, get up and walk around the room, then. Show me that you’re actually capable of leaving this hospital.”

“I will,” Louis said immediately, because he most certainly was capable.

Only when he pushed himself up to sit, his arms shook with the effort. He pushed the blankets back with a clumsy hand and swung his legs down to the floor. They felt heavy as tree trunks even though they looked like spindly, knobby branches. Well, he’d been lying down for a few days, that was all it was. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up to stand.

“Ha! You see,” he exclaimed triumphantly. Instead of a triumphant shout, though, it came out sounding breathless and strained. No matter. He put one foot in front of the other and made it all the way to the end of the bed before he had to stop and plant a hand on the mattress, breathing heavily.

“Will you lie down again now?” Harry asked plaintively.

Louis lifted his head to glare at him. “No, I shan’t. I’m quite fine.”

Then his bad leg buckled underneath him.

He let Harry and James help him back into the bed then.

All right. Maybe he’d best stay in bed for a few more days, then.

 

* * *

 

Being in hospital was altogether quite dull. The pain medicine made him feel unfocused and the medicine for the cancer made him nauseated. At least the surgery was blessedly anticlimactic. There was no screaming and biting down on a leather strap. They just wheeled him into another room and put a mask over his face, and what felt like a moment later he awoke back in the first room, sporting a few small bandages on his chest and a large one on his leg. They told him that the tumour had penetrated too deeply, so they’d had to replace parts of his leg bones and knee joint with metal copies. It was too unbelievable a thought to be upsetting. His leg was swollen and achy for a while, but that had been the case for years anyway.

Harry introduced him to a thing called “telly.” It turned out that the computer-things weren’t just for words and talking to doctors in America. They could also show moving pictures of things people had done before, or people acting out plays, or even moving drawings. Harry showed him some “films” and “serials,” stories in the form of these reproduced plays. They were hard to follow. There was so much that Louis didn’t understand. He liked the ones that were about history and real occurrences, because those explained things better. The stories for children were easier to understand, too, but felt a bit humiliating to watch.

The oncologists scanned him every day. The first time the tumours were measurably shrinking, Dr. Gretza jumped up and whooped in delight. A few days after that, they made him start getting up and walking. Whatever they had done to his leg, it didn’t fall apart when he walked on it, and he was able to cross the room with only the aid of a cane. He found himself ravenously hungry and they started serving him huge meals in the morning so he could get them down before the medicine made him sick in the afternoon.

In only a week, he felt better than he had in years. The wound on his leg was somehow only a vivid red scar already, and he could walk a few laps around the room without losing his breath. He learned he was even free to move around during his medicine infusions: the ivy bag would detach from its stand and follow him, bobbing through the air as the little spinning things attached to it hummed gently.

He asked about the other rooms – Harry wasn’t with him all the time, so he must be going somewhere – and Harry looked startled but quickly offered to show him around. To his surprise, they turned out to have a whole suite of rooms, including a living room with games, a room for exercise, and even a small, strange kitchen. This was when he learned that they were in quarantine. He had imagined that Harry slept in the same room because he was so devoted, but it turned out that Harry wasn’t allowed to leave, either.  

“Wait,” Louis said, gingerly settling himself into a mesh chair with a deeply slanted back and some bulbous protrusions whose purpose he didn’t understand. “So you haven’t been home at all? Or seen your family or anyone?”

Harry pushed one of the protrusions around so it cradled Louis’ head. That was interesting. “No, just some of my colleagues. And loads of doctors. This is standard procedure. We don’t want to bring back a disease from the past and make everyone else sick. And you actually _were_ sick when we got here, so that makes the quarantine longer.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be _sorry,”_ Harry huffed. “God. The whole point is I brought you here because you were sick so we could make you _better._ There’s no place I’d rather be than here with you.”

Louis smiled up at him. Inexplicably, he felt his eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”

Harry leaned closer and curled one hand around Louis’ cheek. “I need you to know that you’re my priority, Lou. You sacrificed so much for me, and came here with me, and I know it saved your life, but I also know that it’s a lot and it’s going to be really hard, and I’m always going to be by your side, okay? That’s what I want. As long as it’s what you want. Don’t worry about all the other stuff. It’ll work itself out.”

Louis had only a moment to wonder what “other stuff” Harry was worried about before he was overwhelmed by the shock of Harry kissing him.

He squeaked in shock and pushed Harry back. He didn’t have much strength, still, but Harry didn’t resist. “Harry! We’re not in private!”

Harry grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. “It’s okay here, remember? I mean, you’ve seen our media.”

This was true. The films and serials showed various combinations of genders (because there were more than two of those now) in relationships, holding each other in public, even kissing on the lips and touching each other in ways that really weren’t appropriate in front of other people. He’d rather thought that was only on the screens, though, not in real life, and he said so. Harry insisted that it was perfectly fine in public. “Only your partner, of course, not just anyone,” he added, as if that made it better. “No one kisses strangers or friends, not even ladies kissing on the cheek. Generally you really shouldn’t touch other people at all, except for lovers and family.”

“I don’t know why you need to warn me about that. I know not to touch people inappropriately,” Louis protested.

“No, but it’s different here. There are all these casual ways that friends touch each other in your time and we don’t do that. I told you that we don’t shake hands, didn’t I?  It’s all just a hygiene thing. You don’t want to get someone else’s germs.”

“I’m quite sure I can manage.”

“Could you manage me kissing me you again?”

The idea gave Louis a nervous flutter in his stomach, but he found that he could.

 

* * *

 

After two weeks, they tried taking Louis off the painkillers. His leg hurt, but the pain was far less than before, and duller. The deep, squeezing ache in his chest was gone entirely, though he felt some strange new prickles of pain, like needles poking his lungs. The doctors declared that this was the pain from tissue around the tumours dying and being repaired, and they put him on a milder painkiller that didn’t affect any feelings but for the pain.

They let him see a scan of his body, too. His lungs were speckled all over with bright spots, some as large as half an inch (which was called a _centimetre_ now). There were only a few little spots around where the tumour in his leg had been. There were small dots throughout his body, though, with larger concentrations in one of his arms and on his liver. The image filled Louis with a bone-deep horror, but the doctors were delighted. The tumours were still shrinking, they said. He could step down to twice-weekly infusion treatments when they left quarantine, and a few weeks after that, he could start taking his medication orally.   

In the bathroom later, he pressed on his arm to try to feel the tumours. Of course he couldn’t. They were deep and tiny. It made him sick to think of what was inside him. He had cancer _everywhere._

He took deep breaths to calm himself. What a miracle a deep breath was. He didn’t cough up blood anymore; he didn’t get winded crossing a room. They were making him better. He was getting better. The constant misery, the grinding pain and fear of the last years was behind him now. He had to believe that.

 

* * *

 

Harry went away for a whole day.

Louis didn’t understand why or how – weren’t they still in quarantine? But Harry didn’t explain. He just kissed him goodbye and said he’d be back later.

This happened for a few days—Harry would kiss him goodbye, and he’d be so a-flutter from Harry just casually kissing him like that that it would take him a minute to realise what was happening, that Harry had just left. Harry dodged all the questions about it until, suddenly, he didn’t.

It was late. Harry was wrapped around Louis in one of the beds, which was definitely sized for only one person, albeit generously. Louis wasn’t hooked up to anything in the night anymore. He was only wearing one monitor, a discreet patch stuck to the inside of his wrist, and no one came in to bother them during the night anymore.

The night after that changed, Harry had hinted at sex, and that had raised Louis’ pulse and blood pressure to the point that a nurse had come running in. There hadn’t been a repeat of that. They still slept in the same bed, and the only consequence was that the nurse or med tech would smile indulgently at them in the morning.

“There’ve been a lot of meetings lately, about what to do about us,” Harry said into the darkness.

Louis forced his eyes open. He was still so tired all the time, but this sounded important. “You mean, what to do about me.”

Harry snorted. “No, I mean us. As a unit and as individuals. There’s not exactly a precedent for any of this.”

“I know that me, coming from where—when I do, that’s not normal. That’s not supposed to happen,” Louis mused. “Do you think they’ll send me back? But you, what would anyone need to do about you?”

“I broke the rules,” Harry said softly, stroking Louis’ back. “Staying as long as I did. Bringing you back. I broke so many rules. I did technically complete my mission, but I fucked a lot of things up along the way. No, they won’t send you back. You know too much now. And everyone there thinks you’re dead and that you died when you were meant to. Sending you back would mess with the past, and that’s the number one thing we’re supposed to _not_ do.”

Louis sighed. He wondered how the baby was doing, and then he remembered that his son had been dead for about five hundred years, and what was anyone supposed to do with that kind of thought? He held Harry tighter and shivered. “So, you’re afraid you’ll be punished? What might they do?”

“I really have no idea. Except that I’m sure to be sacked.” He shrugged. “And I’ll make do. You know I wrote a few books in the last few years. Maybe I can get them published.”

“What am _I_ going to do with myself?” Louis asked. He couldn’t believe the question had never occurred to him. Thinking of the future, he hadn’t gotten farther than imagining just staying alive and getting better.

“Don’t worry about that for now, love. To start, all you need to focus on is learning and adjusting and settling in. You’ll have loads to do with that.”

 

* * *

 

Harry was quite correct on that point.

They were released from quarantine a few days later.  Louis received some real clothes, or at least what passed for real clothes in this day and age. They were a good deal more comfortable than the suits he was used to, loose-fitting with soft, yielding fabrics, but the ease of them made him feel like he was wearing nightclothes.

They were taken to a car. Harry had explained these to him, but the thing was still quite a shock. It simply moved on its own – no horses, no loud motor belching smoke – and the ride was almost entirely silent and smooth on flat, hard roads. There were other cars of varying sizes, and on a separate path there were people riding various small, wheeled contraptions. Hardly anyone was simply walking. There was greenery all around, the footpaths lined with strips of grass and flowers, occasionally entire city blocks given over to plant life, but there were also soaring tall buildings. Some were elaborately decorated while others were starkly plain. They all had absolutely enormous windows, these massive flat sheets of glass, or perhaps they were something like diamond, for surely it was not possible for simple glass to be so completely flawless.

When he asked, Harry only looked confused and said, “Well, of course it’s glass.” He couldn’t explain how it was so perfect, though.

The car eventually stopped in front of a building whose façade was decorated with long, curling swoops of color. Harry seemed to know the place, for he lead them straight to a particular room that had a few tables, a lot of chairs, and a half-dozen people already there.

Louis didn’t exactly follow who they all were, but it was quickly apparent that it was a meeting about him. They gave him documents that provided him with an identity. They said the documents entitled him to all sorts of things like basic housing and health care and a bit of money. He wondered what the catch was. Surely they couldn’t just give all of that away to everyone. It was impossible. He would have to ask Harry later.

They asked him not to say where he was from. If he did, he would be famous and he’d have to deal with reporters and clamorous attention, they said. They didn’t want other time agents thinking they could just bring people back whenever they pleased, one of them said. The others glared at her but didn’t contradict her. They had come up with a story for him: that he had grown up in an isolated, religious community that didn’t use modern technology or allow contact with the modern world. Such things existed, apparently. Louis couldn’t fathom why anyone would reject the wonders of indoor plumbing and comfortable horseless cars and giant windows, but then, there were always strange people.

The story, they continued, was that Louis had gotten sick and left his community for medical treatment, and that he was now considered dead by that community, shunned and excommunicated. He had to admit that it was quite a good story. It even left him able to talk about his life and his family. It also meant that he didn’t have to figure out how to convincingly play a modern man overnight.

And then they simply let him and Harry go.

“And now, finally, home,” Harry announced when they were back inside a car – a different one this time. He drew breath to speak, stopped suddenly, and then laughed. “God, I was just thinking, I hope all my stuff is still there after seven years. But I’ve only been away for the weeks we were in quarantine.”

Louis shook his head and marvelled, “That’s so strange.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be a bit of a shock. Although, more so for you, I guess.”

Harry lived on the sixth floor of a sixteen-storey-tall building. Louis looked up at it with dread. “You’re going to have to be patient with me. Climbing that high will be difficult.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about that!” Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him on the cheek. Louis blushed hotly. “We’ll take an elevator.”

The _elevator_ was something like a glass-walled tube. They stepped into it onto a platform that had a waist-high railing running around the perimeter, except for the gap that allowed them to enter, of course. There was a screen on the inside wall, somehow not visible from the outside. The screen had large numbers on it. Harry simply tapped on the numeral six, a chime sounded softly, and the platform simply lifted into the air. In just a few seconds, they were on the sixth floor.

“Well, now that’s something!” Louis said warmly as he followed Harry off the elevator and down a hallway. “I was imagining that everybody here must have extremely strong legs to climb up such tall buildings all the time.”

Thank heavens, Harry’s home wasn’t as stark as the hospital or the place where they had had that meeting. There was at least some colour and pattern to please the eye. He didn’t really know what to make of the “art” hanging on the walls, but no matter. There were so many delightful modern conveniences to make up for that. There was a way to change the temperature of any room at will, a pleasantly-scented bathroom that provided hot water at the touch of a button, a spacious bed that could heat _itself_ and change how firm or soft it was, electric lights in every room, and numerous concealed screens that he could watch movies or serials on. “And you can look up the news, or take courses on them, or order food—all kinds of things. I have so much to show you,” Harry said happily.

 

* * *

 

At first, everything was good. Back home, the future Harry described was so wonderful that Louis couldn’t truly imagine it. Most of the time, he didn’t truly believe that he would ever go there. When he could believe it, he was fascinated but fearful. It sounded so profoundly different.

It _was_ profoundly different. He just hadn’t realised how _good_ that might be.

Life in the future was so comfortable and convenient. Every day was filled with delightful surprises. There were little things (shoes never smelled bad anymore because you put them in a special chest at home that deodorised them) and big ones (everybody had enough to eat, the whole world, all the time) and unfathomable ones (people living on Mars).

He was with Harry, not in secret and in shame, but out in the world like any other couple. He felt like he was floating on air when he walked down the street holding Harry’s hand. Two months in, the doctors tapered Louis down to a milder medicine, and he found himself with more energy than he had had in years. Suddenly, he wanted Harry all the time. Harry was quite delighted to oblige him, and wondrously, they now had all the freedom in the world to have a rather tremendous amount of sex. _That_ was quite a perk. If he had been able to be with Harry like this from the start—no, that was a bad path to wander. What mattered was that it was spectacular now.

The people were lovely, too. Harry’s family found him fascinating, and he found them to be infinitely kind and very amusing. They were a little sour when they first met, but mainly at Harry, who had explained their closeness by saying that he had been in a secret relationship with Louis for months. Harry’s friends were hard for him to follow sometimes but they were very funny and lived such interesting lives. He learned a great deal from all of them.

And then, little by little, without him even noticing at first, the annoyances started to creep in. He was forever getting things wrong, or not knowing how a thing worked. It was hard to follow conversations that centered around politics or history or science that he had no idea about. This society had so many little unwritten rules that he only discovered when he offended someone. It was hard to tell who was a man and who was a woman, and on top of that, there was an entire third gender somehow. They all told him it was perfectly normal to ask how to address someone but he felt terribly rude doing so. He was afraid all the time that he would treat a woman or a person of colour differently and make someone angry. The fact that everyone was equal here obviously worked, and it seemed to be an excellent thing, but he worried that old habits would stick with him even if he didn’t approve of them. He felt ignorant and loutish all the time.

Then there were all sorts of weird things, like meat that was grown in a vat instead of coming off a proper animal. All these people were so proud that they weren’t killing animals, as if that weren’t the natural order of the world, as if somehow growing animal flesh in a lab were not a far greater horror! There were all of these little details he hadn’t noticed at first, all these oddities that these people were so proud of, and no one understood why he disliked these things.

And he missed the children so terribly.

It hadn’t been so obvious at first. In a typical day, the women did most of the caretaking, so he would go a while without seeing the little ones. In the early days, it had been easy not to dwell on what he lost. It felt like he was in the middle of a long day and he’d see the children later. Plus he was so poorly at first, and then he was so caught up in enjoying his newfound health and in learning about this huge, overwhelming new world. Time passed, he grew more settled and less tired, and he found himself with time to think. More and more, his thoughts were painful ones. He missed his family more each day, and he missed the things he was used to, the comfortable ways of interacting with people, the comfort of knowing his place in the world. All the hot showers and magically adjustable beds couldn’t give him that.

There was no one to talk to about it, not really. He did try a little but he felt that Harry didn’t truly understand. Anyway, he didn’t want Harry to think he was ungrateful.

He pushed his feelings down, and told himself to be strong and get over it, but the feelings kept creeping back up, bigger and stronger than before. He found himself feeling more and more exhausted for no reason. He was so sad all the time. Engaging with this world felt increasingly pointless. How could he indulge himself like this when he had left his family? (He knew he had been on the verge of death. He’d felt it in his bones and in his lungs. He had seen the joy and poorly-concealed surprise in the doctors’ eyes when he had recovered. He knew. It didn’t feel like a thing that mattered anymore.)

Harry tried to cheer him up. It mostly just made Louis angry.

He had locked himself in their bedroom one afternoon, curled up small on the bed, furious and confused and most of all, sad, so horribly sad. After he had slammed the door, he had heard Harry crying, and yet he felt unable to move. He only felt worse. He knew that things had been hard for Harry too, in a different way. He had lost his job, his entire career, over bringing Louis back, and the community service he had been assigned as recompense was nasty work. Louis didn’t want to make _him_ miserable, too. He just couldn’t seem to help it.

He trembled on the bed, despising himself, as he listened to a sniffling Harry walk away. Some time later, he heard a door open and voices from elsewhere in the flat. He wondered who was there but he didn’t want to move, much less face whoever it was. He lay there listlessly. Oddly, as the conversation went on, they were easier to hear, as if they had come closer.

“…seeing his therapist?”

Oh. That was Harry’s mother, Anne.

“He doesn’t have a therapist,” Harry answered. There was a long silence, until Harry said defensively, “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Did he refuse to see one?”

“No? It didn’t really come up, I suppose.”

“Harry!” Anne exclaimed. “It didn’t come up? He’s been through something massive! He needs to talk to someone!”

“He can talk to me!”

“Does he? I mean not just day-to-day talking. Does he really get into what he’s feeling? Every complexity and detail of it?”

The ensuing silence made Louis want to squirm, feeling guilty for reasons he couldn’t name.

“He needs to talk to a professional. Someone he—”

“He’s not sick, Mum, he’s just having a hard time adjusting.”

“Harry Edward Styles, that’s the entire point of a therapist, to help you with a hard time. He doesn’t have to be ‘sick’ to need someone neutral and trustworthy to talk to. Love, you’re not neutral, none of us are. Look, aren’t there people at the Time Corps who help people who are having a hard time readjusting after missions? Maybe that’s the sort of thing he needs.”

“I don’t work for them anymore,” Harry said sourly.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Anne huffed. _“I’ll_ bloody call them for you then.”

“Mum, you can’t do that!”

A few days later, Anne came back and, with a kind, maternal brusqueness, packed him into a car and escorted him to a building a ways out from the city centre. Harry had explained a bit about what a _therapist_ was. He wasn’t so sure about telling all his woes to a complete stranger.

Anne told him more in the car, and she was more helpful. He could talk to someone without hurting his loved ones, someone whose entire job was to try to understand and help him. Maybe that could be okay. She told him that he could try a few people, and that he should give them a chance, but that if it was a bad fit, then they could move on to someone else. That was good, it turned out, because he _hated_ the first therapist.

They were employees of the Time Corps, which meant that Louis was actually allowed to talk about his life without censoring anything. The first therapist only _wanted_ to hear about the past, though. When Louis tried to talk about how he was feeling now, the guy would just ask him if he had met Jane Austen or the Queen or something. “We didn’t even have a queen when I left,” Louis said.

“That can’t be right,” the therapist answered. Idiot.

Louis was ready to be done with the experiment then and there, but Anne begged him to give it another try. The next week he met with a new person, a Dr. Tibi. They were one of those third-gender people, somehow neither a man nor a woman, which made Louis a bit uncomfortable. But then they were so warm, so kind, so understanding and sensitive in the way they asked questions and listened to him, that Louis found himself able to talk to them. It wasn’t exactly easy but it was such a relief.

Dr. Tibi didn’t think he was being ridiculous, or lazy, or evil, or any of the things he told himself. They didn’t think he was awful to be angry at Harry sometimes or to be frustrated with the way his life had gone. They said that his reaction was very normal and understandable and he made sense. They said that he was experiencing an extreme form of adjustment shock, which was very common in people who moved to another culture temporarily or permanently.

“In some ways, you’re more like a refugee,” they mused one day. “You left your home by choice, yes, but it wasn’t _really_ a choice because it was the only way to save your life. Even if so many things are better here, you have this struggle that a voluntary migrant doesn’t, that you cannot go home because your home doesn’t exist anymore.”

Louis had stared at them in amazement. “My God, yes, that’s it exactly. And I feel so terrible for not choosing my home, even though I know I would have died there.”

They tapped their chin. “You know, Louis, there’s actually a refugee support group in town. One of my colleagues works with them. A lot of them lived on an island that was devastated by a volcanic eruption. A number of people died and the survivors had to flee as everything was destroyed. I think you should join them.”

Louis shook his head. “Oh, that’s horrible. Compared to them—at least I could prepare in some way. I couldn’t intrude on them.”

Dr. Tibi smiled. “It’s kind of you to put your loss in perspective like that, but it’s not a contest, Louis. You’ve all suffered terrible losses. I really think you could connect with them.”

He didn’t go that week, nor the next, though Dr. Tibi kept bringing it up. He finally mentioned it to Harry—Dr. Tibi had encouraged him to tell Harry what he was comfortable sharing from their sessions—half-expecting a laugh at this absurd suggestion.

Harry didn’t laugh. His eyes slowly widened, and he pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh my god. They’re—oh, Lou, I’m so sorry. I never thought about it like that.”

Louis scooted closer so he could press himself against Harry. “Hey, it’s all right. Don’t be sorry. Do you think they’re right? I thought it sounded so silly, comparing me to refugees.”

Harry leaned his head against Louis’. “I don’t think it sounds silly. It makes sense. Love, I’m sorry I didn’t realise how hard this would be for you. I _thought_ I knew, but I thought that being here and being cured would be so great that it would work out, and I could help you through it all. But Dr. Tibi is right, aren’t they? You need to connect with people who have lost things the way you have.”

Louis’ eyes prickled with tears, a feeling he was growing mightily tired of. He didn’t trust himself to answer. It felt so much more real to have Harry agreeing with Dr. Tibi.

At their next session, he told them that maybe he would try that group after all. Just to try it.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, come on, that’s so unfair!” Louis yelled.

Liam just laughed as he pulled off his headset, ending that session of their game. “Look, don’t feel bad. I do have a few more years of experience playing video games than you.”

“Don’t rub it in.” Louis pulled off his own headset and peeled off the glove overlay from his hands. These immersive computer games were so bizarrely fun, and he was determined to find the one where he could finally triumph.

Of the dozen or so regular members of the refugees’ support group, Liam was the one that Louis had grown closest to. They spent time together outside the group, like today’s games-and-samosa-sushi session. He could be entirely himself around Liam, and he always enjoyed Liam’s company, with his kindness and his easy laugh that hid a surprising competitive streak.

The group had changed his life. He had thought that no one else could relate to him because his situation was unique, but their feelings had more in common with his than he had ever imagined. They were the only ones who treated his past not as an exciting curiosity to be asked after endlessly, but as something delicate, a source of pain, a thing whose loss was not unambiguously good. Luz had noted that they felt the same: people would tell them how lucky they were to have lived, how happy they must be to be in England, like that entirely made up for losing their homeland.

They also, like him, were outsiders here. They had all settled in England for a reason—Liam and his sister Ruth had lived here until Liam was ten, for example, and Luz’s sister had settled in England some years back—but they didn’t have many connections and they also encountered cultural differences. To be sure, theirs weren’t as severe as his, but it was something.

They were his friends, and he liked that they were _his_ friends. Up to that point, everyone in his life had been Harry’s first. They had all extended their friendship to Louis, genuinely, but they cared about him only because Harry did, and of course their first loyalty would always be to Harry. He hadn’t known how to make his own friends, so conscious of all the things he didn’t know and all the things he could get wrong, but now that he had them, he didn’t know how had ever lived without them. With their help, and Dr. Tibi’s, he was starting to feel like he really was going to be all right here.

The front door clicked open. “Do I smell samosas?” Harry called.

“Harry!” Louis raced to the front door to greet Harry with a kiss. “I almost won this time.”

Harry grinned and hugged him. “Next time, babe. Hey, Liam, how’s it going?”

“Hey, man, it’s all good.” Liam waved a headset in the air and raised an eyebrow. “Fancy a round?”

“Sure. I want a samosa first, though,” Harry said.

Louis hugged him tight and smiled against his shoulder. He was still figuring this life out, but right now, it felt pretty good.

 

* * *

 

Louis still remembered his wedding day with perfect clarity. It had been a cool, clear day in early autumn, the leaves just starting to turn. He had woken up with an ache in the pit of his stomach that only got worse as he prepared himself for the event. He had been so afraid that he was doing the wrong thing.

His friends had laughed at his nerves with good cheer and pushed him into the church when he hesitated. They thought his worries were those of any bachelor. They didn’t understand, but they didn’t doubt at all that he should be married, and that still helped.

And then there had been Bebe, beaming as she walked down the aisle, so radiant, so _happy._ Looking at her, he could almost believe that this was right. This was what everyone said should happen. The church thought so, his entire society thought so—even the _future_ supposedly thought so. So he said the words, and he closed his eyes and kissed her, and just like that, he was married.

After, they had the wedding breakfast at his parents’ home. It had been a modest affair, as weddings were in those days, just a meal and a bit of cake with their siblings and parents and a handful of close friends.

Harry hadn’t been there. He had been invited, of course, but privately Louis had asked him to feign illness and stay away. He couldn’t have gone through with it if Harry had been with him.

Everyone had been so happy. It was easy to feel their joy and to share in it, to imagine them making their home together and welcoming children and enjoying all the respect and status of a married couple. It was everything he had been raised to expect and want out of life. And, truly, Bebe was his dear friend, and it was a beautiful thing that he could provide and share that life.

No one but Louis knew that he snuck out of bed that night, after Bebe had fallen asleep, and went to his office to weep.

His second wedding was about as different as it could possibly be.

He came into it a widower, technically, which was quite bizarre, considering he had left his wife a widow. His widow had remarried, very happily as far as they had been able to learn, and now it was his turn to do the same. This time, he was marrying a man. He had never even imagined such a thing, for it wasn’t legal in his time or for hundreds of years thereafter. And this time, he was marrying someone he loved in every possible way. The road here had been filled with pain and tribulation, but he felt not the slightest doubt that he wanted _this_ marriage.

They wed not in a church but in a park, surrounded by flowers and green things, under a cloud-dappled sky. There was no priest; they needed no church’s blessing. All they had to do was say their vows and sign a piece of paper. They kissed in front of everyone, and Harry’s family cheered, and their friends surrounded them in a boisterous embrace, in the kind of touch that in this society was only shared with one’s most beloved and trusted people.

It was a funny thing to get married in this day and age. Harry and Louis had been living together like a married couple for years, so the wedding didn’t really change anything about their lives or even their social status. It was still special. It was a pledge to stick together through anything, a promise not to give up on each other, a public declaration that they were a unit, now and always.

When he wept that night, he stayed encircled in his husband’s arms, and he was only weeping for what he had lost. He missed his family still, always. And yet, though it hurt that they weren’t there to see him wed, this was a marriage they would never celebrate. In this place, in this time, his friends and Harry’s family—his family now, too—loved him for who he was. For all of who he was. That was why, this time, he didn’t weep for fear of the future. He didn’t know all that the coming years would hold, but it would be good. He was alive and safe and loved and in love. He was happy. They were happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can [find me on tumblr here](https://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/). There's a rebloggable fic post [here](https://hlregencyvictorianficchallenge.tumblr.com/post/179112233049/blossoms-in-barren-land-by-kassio) if you'd like to share it!


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